Sword to the Heart (Bantam Series No. 13) by Barbara Cartland Page A

Charles II, she married the Duke of Wessex,” Lord Colwall replied. “I found a complete list in our records and I ordered exactly the same number of garments for you.”
    He paused and added:
    “I knew that as far as good taste is concerned I could trust Madame Madeleine.”
    His words dulled a little the look of gratitude on Natalia’s face. She had thought that he had chosen himself—and with care—the elaborate gowns which were hanging in the wardrobe upstairs; the ermine-lined, exquisite garments which had been sent to the Vicarage.
    Then she gave a metaphorical shake of her shoulders.
    How foolish she had been to think His Lordship would actually select her gowns. After all, tradition was part of his life. How could it be anything else when he lived in a Castle like this? When he bore a name which was part of the history of England?
    She forced a smile to her lips.
    “I am so very grateful.”
    “There is no need for you to be,” he replied. “As my wife you must of course uphold the dignity of your position.”
    She glanced at him quickly, then before she could speak the Butler announced from the door that dinner was ready.
    Lord Colwall offered Natalia his arm, and as they walked through the marble Hall and down the wide corridor, she realised it was the first time she had touched him.
    She felt her fingers tremble on his arm at the thought.
    ‘How proudly he holds himself,’ she thought admiringly.
    As they passed the suits of armour which lined the corridor, she knew exactly how he would look dressed in one of them with a great plumed helmet on his head.
    The Dining-Room had a high, Gothic-arched roof, but the cold austerity was relieved by the carvings on the stone capitals.
    There was a whole log burning in the great fire-place and the walls were hung with portraits of the previous owners of the Castle.
    The high-backed chairs were covered in tapestry which Natalia learned later had been worked by industrious Chatelaines over the centuries.
    The table was massed with gold ornaments and lighted candelabra, and as Natalia seated herself on the right of Lord Colwall she felt small and a little insignificant in a room that could comfortably seat a very large number of people.
    As if Lord Colwall read her thoughts he remarked:
    “Tomorrow we shall hold our Marriage Feast here and will entertain over two hundred guests.”
    ‘It sounds frightening,” Natalia said. “I had always thought that I should be married in our tiny Church at Pooley Bridge by Papa.”
    “The Bishop of Hereford will officiate,” Lord Colwall told her. “Your father will not be required to take part in the service.” There was a little silence and then, as if Sir James once again sensed the resentment arising in the Reverend Adolphus, he said: “Have you seen the newspapers today? I read in The Times that at Fordingbridge in Hampshire a mob under the leadership of a man who called himself Captain, broke up a factory which manufactures threshing machines.”
    “Do you think that the Captain in question is the mysterious Mr. Swing?” the Reverend Adolphus asked, diverted for a moment from Natalia’s wedding.
    “I should not be in the least surprised,” Sir James answered. “They say he definitely started the riot. He was apparently on horseback and his followers addressed him bare-headed.”
    “I cannot imagine why he was not arrested,” Lord Colwall remarked sharply. “I hear that the Prime Minister has sent the Seventh Dragoon Guards to Canterbury and the Fifth Dragoons to Tunbridge Wells to quell disturbances.”
    “I read,” Sir James answered, “that Sir Robert Peel has deprecated strongly the action of certain magistrates in yielding to the mobs.”
    “I can assure you of one thing,” Lord Colwall said sternly. “If there was rioting here, which I cannot believe possible, then I would shoot every rioter myself, rather than give in to their demands.”
    There was something in his tone which made Natalia look at