Red Rose, White Rose by Joanna Hickson

folk; fish, roofing material, baskets, wildfowl, irrigation and, above all, fresh drinking water. As well as refreshing the spirit with its beauty, its products were the reason the manor was here at all.
    I wandered down to stand on a lichen-covered rock that jutted out into the lake. The water tempted me to squat down and scoop up water to splash my face, and as I did so I became aware of footsteps behind me, then a flat stone skipped across the surface of the lake four times and sank, taking me and a busy pair of moorhens by surprise.
    ‘I had a feeling I would find you here.’
    I sprang up, my face dripping, to find Sir John not ten feet from me, bending to pick up another stone.
    ‘The lake is Aycliffe’s jewel. It is the only thing that makes it habitable.’
    ‘It is beautiful,’ I said, dashing the water from my eyes. ‘And the peel could be also. Why does the earl not make it so? Drainage, a barmkin, some byres and stables, a church tower. These things are soon built.’
    ‘The necessary funds, my lady, have gone to swell your mother’s dower.’
    I could not let that pass. ‘Every widow must have a dower. That is enshrined in law.’
    ‘Not three quarters of her husband’s estate.’ Sir John’s face was stern. ‘What widow needs so much?’
    I fought down an urge to agree with him by reminding myself that it was my mother’s closeness to the throne and the king’s patronage which had brought such wealth to my father.
    ‘My mother’s dower is one third until her death. The rest is entailed for her sons. All widows have as much. That is why so many younger sons fight to win them in marriage, is it not? Even if they are ancient crones! You could do so yourself, Sir John. If funds are so urgently needed I wonder you do not.’
    ‘I have no inclination to the wedded state,’ he retorted. ‘The earldom has its heir and due to my brother’s infirmity I am its steward. No, it is Thomas whose future is threatened because his betrothal was made when your father was alive, before the terms of his will became known. His bride-to-be is Margaret Beaumont, a widow with a substantial dower. She was married as a child to Lord Deyning but he died before they were bedded and she was betrothed to Thomas soon afterwards. Her father says now that he will not allow that dower to be squandered on a penniless younger son, even one who is the brother of an earl, and he is taking legal steps to break the contract. His strongest argument is that Thomas cannot provide a home suitable for the daughter of a viscount and he is right. Thomas will lose a valuable marriage to a girl of whom he has unfortunately become fond, because your mother hoards all the best Westmorland lands, which she does not need as your father ensured that all
her
children made advantageous unions. That is why I brought you here, to see the effects of her avarice for yourself.’
    This remark stirred my capricious temper and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. But though greatly tempted to deny my mother’s employment of the third deadly sin, I reminded myself that only one thing mattered, to escape back to Raby. Angrily confronting my abductor would not help achieve this and so I bit back the furious protest that sprang to my lips and took a deep, steadying breath.
    ‘Thomas is young. There will be another marriage. But I still do not understand why you cannot solve your family’s difficulties by making your own advantageous match. Whether inclined to matrimony or not, it is surely your duty, unless you are drawn to the religious life.’
    It was his turn to exercise control. I could see his chiselled jaw clenching and unclenching as he turned away and let his gaze wander across the lake to where a pair of water birds were performing an elaborate ritual, shaking their crested heads to alternate sides, rearing up in the water and making each other gentle gifts of dripping weed. It was a charming sight but I was not prepared to let him retreat into