Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Callington,” Joseph said as he sat beside Inez in the cart on the road north to that city.
A fair morning shone over their heads, all the world bright and new for the pair in love.
Chiffchaff and willow warblers sprinkled song through the air.
Campion and early gentian daubed the grasslands with white and purple.
The earth smelled different, out here where she could smell the earth, away from the constant coal fires of London.
“We’ll have the banns read for three weeks and be wed in St. Mary’s,” Joseph proposed.
“I’d love to lead you to the church door of St. Clarus, where I grew up, but that is my parish no longer.
If you wish for the distinction, I can apply to the bishop for a common license, and then we only need wait seven days. ”
“I will wed you wherever you like, corac?o, but if we wish to please our neighbors we must host a wedding breakfast, so you had better give me three weeks to prepare.”
He turned his warm, frank gaze upon her, and Inez felt, as ever, the melting impact of his dark brown eyes.
This man was hers. He had declared himself so at last. She had pinched herself when she woke in the small chamber Priscilla gave her to sleep in the previous night, not sure she hadn’t been dreaming.
But at breakfast, when Joseph rose eagerly from his chair and stepped toward her to drop a kiss on her hand and lead her to the table beside him, the look of delight on his face, and the way he tempted her with coddled eggs and toast, assured her she was adored and cherished.
They rode side by side home, with Jock riding Arthur and steering their way, and she sat beside Joseph, as she had at breakfast that morning with a lord’s daughter and her husband, as an equal.
She wasn’t an equal. It was a masquerade. And yet she was still going to place her hand in his and trust where he led her, and hope quicksand did not of a sudden open under her feet and swallow her whole.
“Corac?o,” he repeated, being careful to get the pronunciation correct. “That means?”
Her cheeks tightened with heat. “My heart.”
Would he wish for doting from her? Would he accept it? He was not a man to abide fawning. Courtesy, he demanded and gave, elegance of manner, he had cultivated on his Grand Tour, but he was not a man to scatter flattery or compliments unless extremely well-deserved.
“I suppose it would mortify Jock if I kissed you right now, in the open air,” Joseph said.
“True, though his back is to us, and—”
She had not finished the thought before Joseph leaned forward and kissed her. Tender and delighted, with a taste of the passion held in restraint for when they were finally alone.
She felt giddy. Yesterday she had traveled south feeling she went to her doom. Today she rode back to Haye with Joseph, and in a few weeks, she would be Penwellen’s mistress and his lady.
A baronet’s lady. Lady Illingworth.
Her father would burst with pride and weary his shipmates with boasting. Her mother had wished for nothing more but that Inez find a position that would afford her respect and security. With Joseph, she could add to that love. Her mother would be weeping with the angels, could she see this.
If she could see her daughter, Inez reflected, grasping greedy and unashamed at a boon she didn’t deserve, because to be without Joseph Illingworth in her life was a future she didn’t want to imagine.
“I should wish to take you on a grand honeymoon excursion,” Joseph said. “To Italy, or Greece, or France—”
“Or Portugal. I could show you Sagres.”
“And I would love to see it.” He squeezed her hand. “But I think our ambitions at this time should be modest, given the demands I must address on the property.”
“I shall be content if we went no further than St. Cleer and you showed me the places of your childhood,” she said. “But also, I have not seen Kit’s Hill, or Dunpath Well, or King Doniert’s stone. And we might visit some of the places your father wrote about in his manuscript.”
“Yes, I want to find that manuscript, so I might revisit it. He had such an interest in antiquarian things, and I think some of his findings were quite unique and worth further consideration. Castlewitch, for instance, which we will pass in a moment, once we are through Viverdown Down. There is a hill and an old stone wall there, and my father had a notion it was a henge from the days of the earliest Britons. He also said…”
He was off, and Inez listened, fascinated as always by the turns of his mind and the lore he had accumulated, and content to simply be near him and enjoy his animated state. But eventually he drifted into silence, staring into the middle distance, and she saw her opening.
“That necklace,” she said quietly. “That Priscilla gave me. One stone from it would do much for Penwellen. A handful of them would allow you to make all the improvements you like, and do much more besides, I should think.”
“No,” he said at once. “It is your wedding gift from Mrs. Dervieux, and all the dowry you are likely to have. I won’t touch it.”
“The purpose of a dowry is to contribute to the marital income,” Inez pointed out.
“You have other jewels or baubles you prefer to wear? Other items in your jewel box you like better?”
“You know I have none, nor a jewel box to put them in,” she answered, a little stung.
“Then keep the necklace, my darling, for not taking your possessions is the only gift I can give you for the duration.” A pause elapsed, and then he said what he was thinking. “I will not be another Pierre Dervieux.”
“She married beneath her, and is happy,” Inez murmured.
Joseph met her eyes. “But you fear I will be marrying beneath me, and not be as happy?”
She looked away.
“Inez—”
“Oh, my goodness, that rise over there. Is that the henge you spoke of? Shall we go examine it? We can compare it to what your father wrote.”
“I don’t know what my father wrote, since he gave his friend all his papers,” Joseph grumbled.
But he did not press her, and she wondered if it was because he was aware as she of the resistance he would meet when he tried to introduce his former housekeeper and a foreign-born woman as the new Lady Illingworth.
“Jock,” Joseph said suddenly, “turn here. We will examine the henge. And then cut above Coombe and come at Penwellen from the south. I want to show Inez—and you also—what I have discovered.”
She knew he must see it too, the great yawning gulf that stretched between them. And she wondered if marriage truly could bridge such a gap, or if they would both tumble into the abyss.
Joseph brooded as Jock drove them across the fields.
He’d claimed his woman. He’d followed her to Plymouth, he’d wrested her from the grasp of Wigsby—again—though it seemed less of a heroic gesture given he’d had Dervieux and Wigsby’s own daughter to second him on this occasion.
Inez might feel that swords were somehow not as sturdy a fighting means as fisticuffs.
Yet here she was beside him—had agreed to marry him, at that!
—but he hadn’t won her yet, not entirely.
There was still some final barrier he hadn’t breached, and until he knew was that wall was, he couldn’t bring it down.
They passed the cottages of Doublepools, then the lone, crooked stone that marked the east boundary of his property.
The land was at last under cultivation, thanks to Thaker’s help, but he would have to pray to all the powers for a good growing season, and a long one, for his own farm and the ones he leased.
He didn’t want to worry Inez with those concerns. He wanted her to believe he could provide for her. That he had something to offer her in return for the gift of her hand and her faith and her fealty.
She turned to him suddenly, her face partly hidden beneath the brim of her broad straw hat so all he saw was part of her cheek and the firm line of her jaw.
Her beauty was a blow to him, always. When he’d come into the parlor at Plymouth and saw her standing there, so proud, so alone, he’d wanted to fall to his knees in homage then and there.
“Joseph,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Whose horse is that?”
He followed the direction of her pointing finger.
A horse in saddle, with his reins trailing, trotted across the field toward them.
The Hackney put in harness with Arthur, the one Joseph had ridden south, neighed a greeting, and Joseph wondered if the trotter were a fellow from the White Hart’s stables.
“I hope the rider hasn’t been thrown and is injured somewhere,” Inez remarked after Joseph had secured the horse to the back of the cart, where it ambled along behind them in an agreeable way.
“I hope someone isn’t on my property that should not be,” Joseph said grimly, thinking of Treen.
She watched his face carefully. “Are you regretting your offer of marriage to me?”
Had he been driving, he would have fumbled the ribbons.
“To you? No. Not in the least. I am only…”
Here it was, the chance to see the last barrier before him. To know how large, and how high, it truly loomed. He was not a man who would shrink from a challenge, and never would be again. Not when she was the prize.
“I fear you will think me too hasty,” he said quietly. “I can only offer you an estate in need of repair, and my hopes. And whatever virtues you might see in my humble self, though I am not aware there could be many.”
She laid her hand upon his. As always, her touch stirred the fire that lay banked within him, that hunger, that need for her.
“I do not wish to wait, unless you do,” she said.
“I do not. I wanted to carry you to Penwellen as my bride on our very first night together.”
“At Amesbury?”
“At George Court. The first day I kissed you, and knew for certain you were the companion I had searched for.”
Her gaze searched his. He saw her longing, and he saw her question. “I—”