Chapter 23 #2
He handed it, butt first, to Inez. She slid her hand around the grip and inspected the flintlock mechanism as if she knew what to look for. Then she clicked off the safety and pointed the pistol at Treen.
“You shot at me and Joseph, before,” she said. “You tried to kill him.”
Treen’s eyes bulged from his head, his gaze locked on the bore of the barrel. At this range, if Inez fired, she would not miss.
“Not kill,” he gurgled. Then he attempted a laugh that sounded much like a chicken being relieved of its head. “I wouldn’t stoop to murder.”
“I might,” Inez said.
And that was the tableau they were making when the travelling carriage arrived.
“What an honor,” Mrs. Treen simpered for the round dozenth time. “The Earl and Countess Tremarron. Your estate is near Camborne, I believe?”
“Tremarron is and has been there these few hundred years,” the Earl rumbled in assent.
“La, a real Earl, and in Cornwall! And his lovely Countess, too. Can you say, my friends, that we have seen anything so grand in these days? This is Mrs. Daw, ladyship, my old and faithful friend, and this is Mrs. Abbott.”
“How lovely to meet you,” the Countess condescended to say. “I do hope we have not surprised you too much by coming upon you so suddenly.”
“Won’t stay long,” the Earl promised. “Only meant to stop for a look-in. On our way to London, you know.” He bestowed a fond look upon his wife. “Mean to arrange some doctoring for my lady, best we can find. In an interesting situation, the Countess is.”
Her ladyship, who was gorgeous in an open robe of quilted blue brocade, with an embroidered stomacher pinned to her front, laid a hand over her midsection to delicately communicate that her interesting situation involved being enceinte.
“And Pierre Dervieux thought you might wish to invest in my mines,” Joseph said for not quite the dozenth time, as if repeating the information might make sense of it.
The ladies were seated in the larger drawing room of Penwellen, which had, during Inez’s short tenure, become a brighter, warmer place.
The dust was gone from the furniture and hangings, the chairs and chaises had been arranged into cordial groupings, and the paintings beamed benignly from the walls, without their previous glower.
Inez herself, once freed from her captivity, had led their visitors into the room as if they were her valued guests, seating the Countess first and with graceful solicitation, and then seeing to the comfort of Mrs. Treen and her biddies, who didn’t dare look her in the eye.
Jock leaned by the door, his crutches detracting not a bit from his authority as guard over Treen, who stood beside him looking as if the most painful dyspepsia was making its way through his body.
“Know it’s sudden,” the Earl said gruffly.
He was a large man with the rounded, well-fed look of one who had been born a peer and because of it had never encountered opposition in his life.
“Was only playing cards with the man last night. Quite the blade, that Dervieux. At any rate, he mentioned you were developing a copper mine, and I’m in search of an investment.
Druther have a few business interests to round out the estate, you know.
Support my new heir and all.” Once again he directed a doting look at his wife, who returned it.
“Such a wise notion, m’dear,” she said fondly.
Wenna brought in a large silver tray with the tea things and gave Inez a questioning look.
Inez, as if she were their hostess and not the housekeeper, reposed herself on a comfortable striped chaise and suffered Wenna to set a small folding table before her, whereupon she set to the preparations for pouring.
For Joseph, that small, elegant act focused and settled him. Inez, preparing tea, the lady of his house. Everything would come right.
“I am not certain how much the land can be expected to yield,” Joseph said.
Hoskyn cleared his throat and made a small movement to put himself forward.
“I believe you will find the report very promising, once you have had opportunity to review it, Sir Joseph. Particularly if you might set up a mine with a steam engine that can dig deep and remove the water that is likely to fill it. For which it seems the Earl might be so obliging as to provide the capital. Your lordship.” He bowed deeply, holding a hand to his small periwig to keep that article from slipping forward on his head.
Treen groaned. “Thousands of pounds,” he said. “Likely to yield over years.”
The Earl sent him a look of curiosity. “I say, who is the magistrate for these parts, then? Acland’s MP but in America fighting the rebels.
With Burgoyne somewhere in New York, I hear.
And Skrine—he’s the one in Walpole’s pocket.
Played cards with him a few times as well. Won a fair bit of blunt, I recall.”
“You are so clever, milord,” his lady murmured, accepting the cup of tea Wenna delivered with a gracious smile.
“I have no doubt a joint venture will prosper with you to fund the machinery, my love, and Sir Joseph to provide the land.” She studied Inez.
“And you are to become the new Lady Illingworth, Priscilla tells me.”
Inez carefully poured tea into the saucer with its milk. “I have that honor, your ladyship.”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Treen said. It was she for whom the tea was meant. “Sir Joseph is, or will be, our leading gentleman. He intends to make the proper marriage. An heiress, I am sure. Perhaps a Coryton from Pentillie, or one of the Robings from Rosecraddoc—”
“Were you born in England, then?” the Countess asked curiously, addressing Inez.
“No, mum. In Portugal, where my mother’s family is from. My father was a sailor from Goa. That is—”
“Part of the Portuguese State of India, I know.” Her ladyship smiled. “The Earl has had dealings with the Viceroy. He is a very clever businessman, is my love. He will be a good partner for Sir Joseph.”
“But Portugal,” Mrs. Treen tittered. “The Earl quite condescends to befriend foreigners, though one would only expect such gentility of his breeding.”
“Portugal and England have long maintained friendly relations, Mrs. Treen,” Inez said. “Our countries have never been at war.”
“My mother’s family was from Portugal,” Joseph said.
“And Queen Charlotte has Portuguese blood.” The Countess sipped her tea. “In fact they say her branch of the Portuguese royal house comes from Africa.”
Mrs. Treen gulped her tea and spluttered. Mrs. Daw and Mrs. Abbott looked with great interest into their own cups, as if reading their fortunes in the tea leaves.
“We must be along, my love, if we wish to join the Courtenays at Powderham as we promised.” Her ladyship set down her cup and smiled at Inez. “Fanny has just been delivered of her tenth—can you imagine?”
“I cannot,” Inez said, “but I wish her very well.”
The three matrons made polite murmurs, their eyes wide with reverence as they looked upon intimates of the Earl of Devon and his family, who resided at the ancient and imposing Powderham Castle.
The Earl levered himself to his feet. “As you say, my love. Sir Joseph, I’ll leave your man the direction for my man, and they can draw up the papers we require.
” He held out his hand to his lady, still addressing Joseph.
“Shall we wish you to make us known to the new Duke of Hunsdon and his lady? I hear the Duke was a hey-go-mad rakehell back in the days of being plain Malden Grey, but he seems to have sobered up now.” He winked at his helpmeet.
“Expecting an heir settles a man, I believe.”
“My sister the Duchess would be a proper acquaintance for the Countess, I hope,” Joseph said. “Since her ladyship seems to have no quarrel with Portuguese blood.”
He felt a vile satisfaction at sliding “the Duchess” into his speech and watching the three matrons titter again.
The new baronet consorting with earls and laying claim to kinship with a duchess was quite acceptable to them.
And the Countess had swept all before her with that pointed reminder about the heritage of the beloved Queen.
Joseph was in quite good charity with the lord of Tremarron as he walked the earl and countess to his door.
“I look forward to a long and profitable enterprise,” he said, and the Earl, to Joseph’s great delight, shook his hand.
“As do I. S’pose that’s your man with the constable?” the Earl said as Thaker pulled the Illingworth gig into the yard. “Well, what can you expect from a man whose mother was a barmaid?”
“Almost anything, I should say,” Joseph replied. “Same as any man.”
The Earl pondered this as he handed his lady into their coach.
“The land,” Treen moaned as Jock herded him into the hall. “Thousands. It all should have been mine.”
“Now, Melwin.” His mother smoothed her mittens, showing her nerves had been much fortified by her tea.
“We shall sort this all out in a trice. Sir Joseph is clearly a man of judgment. He’ll understand that you might have gotten ambitious, particularly as you are so anxious about the care of your Mama, but we shall all be friends in the end.
And Lady Illingworth as is to be.” She simpered at Inez, ready to quite forgive her for the error of being born a foreigner.
“I hope you will call on me in Church Street, and that Melwin and I shall have the honor of toasting your health at your wedding breakfast.”
“Oh, do call upon me as well, Lady Illingworth as is to be,” Mrs. Daw was quick to add.
Mrs. Abbott did Inez the justice of looking her up and down. “Not as handsome as my Ursula,” she pronounced, “but quite a fetching way about you. Does the baronet have any eligible brothers? Nephews? Cousins or good friends?”
At last, they were alone. Joseph shut the door on the Earl and his lady, on the gig with the constable and his new charge, on the matrons collecting themselves to follow. Wenna whisked the tea tray back to the kitchen, and Joseph regarded the woman who was to be his bride.
Who had, in a matter of weeks, become his all-in-all.
With a swoop, he lifted her into his arms. She gave a small shout of surprise.
“Mrs. Da Costa. Lady Illingworth as is to be. I have something I would like to discuss with you upstairs.”
She slid her arms around his neck, her eyes full of laughter. “We cannot have a proper conversation over tea?”
“Wenna has already taken away the tea tray, and it must be upstairs.” He headed toward the open staircase, bumping her shoes against the railing. “Careful—your skirts—your feet—”
Inez giggled. “You might put me down, and I walk of my own accord. I’ve done so many times.”
“A moment. I think if I change the angle—turn us sideways—”
“Joseph, we’re not going to fit through the hallway. There is no need to carry me abovestairs.”
“It’s an ancient Roman custom, meant to prevent bad luck or mischievous spirits from attaching themselves to the bride and following her to her new home. May as well begin as we mean to go on.”
He put her on her feet only when he’d achieved his bedchamber. Then he pulled her into his arms for a rousing kiss, and Inez melted against him.
“Welcome home,” he murmured against her lips.
Home. That word pushed that strange lump into her throat, like a chunk of roast beef. Penwellen was her home now. Joseph was her home.
“You won’t run away again?” He began the process of removing her bodice, divesting her of pins.
“No further than you can catch me,” she promised, assisting at her disrobing. “I had to settle with Priscilla. I couldn’t come to you a thief.”
“And Wigsby will not threaten you again,” Joseph said. “Or, if he does, I’ll do something that will require Mal to argue eloquently in my defense.”
She thrilled as he ran his hands over the places her outer garments exposed. “I think we might make friends of the Dervieuxes, if they remain in England. So long as you do not let Pierre lure you to the gaming table.”
“I should hope not. But if he has made me a connection with the Earl of Tremarron, I shall be grateful. It’s a young title, but the man is held in regard in these parts.”
“If he supplies the capital to build the engines, and the mines yield as Mr. Hoskyn thinks they will, you shall not have to worry about Penwellen’s fortunes.” She applied herself to the task of undressing him in turn.
“And I shall be able to keep my Lady Illingworth in the style in which she deserves.” He paused, his hands stilling at her stays, and his gaze met hers with a smolder that made her belly shift and give way. “If we are to be married, there need be no more caution in bed.”
“None at all,” she agreed. She raised on tiptoe to kiss him, then stopped. “But Joseph—before. You were so upset.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Do you fear having a child with me? Because I am—”
“No,” he said against her lips, and kissed her thoroughly between his declaration.
“No. I only feared to plant a babe on you and thus force your hand to marry me. Once married, I will plow your luscious fields as often as you will permit me, and plant whate’er I can.
Let us see if we can rival the Earl of Devon in progeny. ”
“Plow me!” she said, pretending indignation, but thrilled at the idea of bearing a child with him. A little Joseph, or a tiny inquisitive Amaranthe. Perhaps a wee daughter who resembled Inez’s mother, whom she could name Mariana, or a roustabout boy in whom Joseph would see his own ancestors.
Children for their home, warmth for their future, and a legacy for Penwellen. A beautiful dream, one she had thought meant for other people, placed fragile and eloquent into her hands.
“The children may be dark, like me,” she warned him as he tugged at her shift and bend his head to her breasts. Desire lifted her instantly, like a great soaring wind.
“They will be beautiful, and if anyone here has a problem with lineage, we will bring down the Duke and Duchess of Hunsdon and trot them out to roll over any objections.”
“Finally,” Inez murmured, “you mean to use your connections to your advantage.”
“I want every advantage I might offer you, my love.”
“Joseph.” She grasped his arms as he laid her upon the coverlet and rose over her. She met his eyes. “All I want is you. That is all I ever wanted.”
“And I am enough for you,” he said, wonder in his voice. “Imagine that.”
“More than enough, my love.” He slid inside her, and she wrapped herself around him. Her eyes popped open. “And if you ever run away—go off to Dark Lane again, or something like it—”
“Never,” he vowed, moving inside of her, his eyes hazy with passion and love. “This is my place. This is my home. You are all I have longed for, my love.”
“We are home to each other,” she murmured, and joyed in the promise of the future together as they last barriers dissolved and they walked, hand in hand, toward it and the beautiful land they could claim as theirs alone.
She had found her place in the world, and it was him.