Page 69 of The King's Man
‘My father was not in his right mind. He was ailing … your mother forced him into it … ’ Thamsine broke off and looked away, the memory of that betrayal still raw.
Lucy studied Thamsine with a humourless smile on her lips. ‘I can’t think what he saw in you. You’re hardly his type.’
‘Why are you doing this, Lucy? What do you get from this alliance with the Devil?’
Lucy’s lips tightened. ‘I am rather possessive about my men, Mistress Granville, and I don’t need you to distract my dear Kit any longer. I have my own plans for him.’
Thamsine searched the woman’s hard face, looking for a shred of human decency that would respond to an appeal. All she saw was a spoiled woman who let nothing stand in the way of what she wanted – and what she wanted was Kit Lovell. She wondered why. Was it possible, for all her protestations, that Lucy had been betrayed by her own emotions? Had she fallen in love with Kit Lovell?
‘If you think Kit Lovell will come to your rescue, forget it,’ Morton said. ‘By the time he returns from wherever he is, you will be married and beyond his reach.’
Lucy turned to Ambrose. ‘Well, are you taking her? This interview is getting a little tiresome.’
Thamsine made a dive for the windows. Far better to break a leg, or her neck, in a bid for freedom than submit to this man. Ambrose caught her by the waist, lifting her from the ground as if she were a doll. He clapped his hand over her mouth, and numbed shock gave way to desperation. Thamsine kicked and clawed and struggled but Ambrose was a powerful man, and apart from a satisfying scratch on his cheek, her efforts were in vain.
He held her firm as they heard footsteps on the stairs. Mag threw open the door to admit a man of middle age, thin and slightly stooped with lank hair and a long, sad face. Ambrose dropped his hand, and Thamsine felt the breath catch in her throat as she recognised the visitor.
Her sister’s husband, the lawyer Roger Knott.
‘Roger. Help me, please.’
But her vain hope that Roger had come to rescue her faded as Roger Knott bowed to Lucy, and then turned to where Thamsine stood immobile in Ambrose’s grip.
‘Thamsine. I am pleased to see you are well,’ he said. ‘We have been most concerned for your welfare. It pleases me to see you reunited with your betrothed.’
‘How nice,’ Lucy said. ‘A family reunion. You would not know, I suppose, that dear Roger has been a loyal friend of my family for, oh, more years than I can remember!’
Thamsine glared at her brother-in-law. War had torn her family apart, with Roger taking up a sword for Parliament, while her father espoused the King’s cause. She had not seen her sister, Jane, or her husband until she had fled to their quiet housein Turnham Green six months previously. He had betrayed her then, and now it seemed he would betray her again.
‘The coach is by the door, Morton,’ Roger said, standing aside as Ambrose lifted Thamsine from her feet and carried her down the stairs. He thrust her into a coach, one hand holding her firmly, the other dabbing at his cheek where she had scratched him. Roger Knott climbed into the carriage after them, shrinking into the seat, his pale face shining in the gloom of the carriage.
As the carriage lurched forward she found her voice.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘I’m taking you to your sister in Turnham Green,’ Ambrose said.
‘You can’t force me to marry you, Ambrose,’ she said with more bravado than she felt.
‘Be assured, Thamsine, our marriage will be contracted legally and with your consent. I have no wish for anyone to question its validity at a later date.’
‘I will burn in Hell first.’
‘You may well do that, Thamsine, but not until I’m ready to let you,’ Ambrose replied.
Thamsine spat at him.
‘Tut, Mistress Granville. You have been too much in rough company and forgotten your manners,’ Ambrose said as he wiped his face. ‘You will be pleased to know that your brother-in-law has some scruples and is most insistent that you shall stay at Turnham Green until you are of a more amenable state of mind. Of course, it is not my preferred course, but I am prepared to defer to him in this matter. I want a willing wife to come to my bed.’
Not while I have breath in my body, Thamsine thought as she subsided against the cracked leather of the seat, beyond misery.
She had been delivered up to the enemy, sold on the marriage market by an old, sick man who could not resist hiswife’s harassment any longer, and then betrayed by her sister’s husband, the only other person who had been trusted to see to her welfare.
The house in Turnham Green stood set back from the London road, a pretty red brick building surrounded by a rambling garden that was the delight of her sister, Jane.
Thamsine’s heart sank as the coach stopped in the courtyard. Ambrose dragged her from the coach, nearly knocking over the maid who opened the front door to them. As Thamsine stumbled across the doorstep she collided with her sister.
‘Jane!’ She flung herself at her sister, feeling Jane’s arm around her, drawing her close.
