Chapter Five
Sea Grange Manor, Suffolk, Two days later
Two mornings later, a note from her father arrived. He would return soon and bring a guest with him. She should prepare the house and herself to greet their guest with all due decorum and respect.
Were she inclined that way, Meg might have cursed. “Soon” could mean today or five days from now. How typical of Father to imagine she could divine the significance of “soon” without more information.
She set the housekeeper to opening the best guest chamber, sat with the cook planning a number of elegant meals and teas. She had the butler bring up the best wines from the cellar, and she instructed her maid as to which outfits to prepare.
Then she spent time in the garden, helping with flowers for the house. After luncheon she forced herself to sit quietly in the parlor and read.
Shortly before tea, the butler entered the parlor. “I beg pardon, miss. You’ve a visitor. However, I hesitate to admit him.”
“Him? Not Father and guest then.”
“The gentleman’s card, miss.” The butler extended his gloved hand.
Meg took the card, smiling as she read the name. “By all means, invite Mr. Copefort to join me for tea, but first inform Amanda that I require her presence.”
“Very good, miss. However, do you not wish to wait to have tea with your father?”
The possibility of an encounter between Father and Kit was unsettling. Hopefully she would have time to ask her visitor’s discretion regarding the events at Trout Creek. As for meeting Father, Kit appeared to be a practical man. Meg suspected he could handle himself with her parent.
“I doubt Mr. Copefort will remain for very long and refusing refreshment, especially when you’ve already indicated I am at home, would be rude.
Tell cook to supply the grand tea service we prepared for Father.
I’m certain there will be plenty, should Father and his guest arrive while Mr. Copefort’s here. ”
“As you say, miss.” The butler bowed and left.
She set the calling card on a side table then went to stand looking out the window at the rear gardens.
The tree line was close enough for her to see the spot where she and Kit emerged after their mutual dunking.
She rubbed her cheek with her fingertips, recalling the press of his damp shirt and the ripple of muscles across his back.
Imagining those sensations was inappropriate, but the feelings now resided among her favorite memories.
***
Kit had spent the previous two days touring various properties near Fenwick on Sea and interviewing area residents.
All the interviews led to the same conclusion, Squire Fenneman and his clerk managed the local smuggling trade.
However, no one could or would provide any solid evidence.
The frequency with which he imagined Meg’s lovely face and form distracted Kit from every conversation.
He'd tolerated the evasions and the personal distractions for two days. Two long days of personally enforced waiting before he allowed himself to act on her invitation to tea.
Now here he stood, at the entrance to the Sea Grange parlor beside the butler whose softly worded announcement of Kit’s arrival went unacknowledged.
“Ahem.” The butler cleared his throat. “Miss Fenneman, Mr. Copefort to see you.”
“Miss,” a feminine voice from the corner of the room called to the young lady.
Had she not spoken, Kit might not have noticed the maid discretely placed to chaperon his visit.
“Oh, forgive me.” Miss Fenneman spun about, pressing a hand to her chest. “I was wool-gathering. How very nice to see you again, Mr. Copefort.” She crossed the room and extended her hand to him.
“I hope you’ve been enjoying the tours about Fenwick you mentioned when last I saw you at Mr. Beuth’s shop. ”
He took the hint as he took her fingers and bowed over her hand. No mention of the Trout Creek events would escape his lips. “I’ve enjoyed the local scenery very much,” he murmured, straightening to fix his gaze with hers. “I’ve seen a number of properties I might find suitable for purchase.”
“Please have a seat,” she gestured toward a pair of settees facing each other across a low table. She ordered tea brought in then seated herself on one of the settees. “You must tell me about these properties. I’ll share with you what I know of them.”
Kit took the opposite seat. “You’re most kind to offer. I’ve visited an empty parcel just to the west of Trout Creek. The property has a rise where a house might have a lovely view of the trees and water yet stand far enough away to avoid any flood damage.”
“Do you favor this empty parcel over the other properties you visited?”
“I saw so many I’m not certain which I favor most. I can say that I now have a shorter list of locations I plan to re-visit.”
The tea arrived. “How do you take your tea?”
“Just as it comes, thank you.”
“Please have some cakes. Or a cucumber sandwich, our cook’s specialty.”
Kit took the smallest sandwich he could find, setting that plate to one side while he sipped his tea and waited for Miss Fenneman to serve herself.
“In addition to that empty parcel, I toured several other homes. Some were too poorly maintained for me to consider. One was too close to the harbor beach and small islands I understand smugglers like to use for bringing in their goods. I’ve no desire to become embroiled in that trade and any home so close to a well-known landing’s not for me.
Of the remaining properties, Salt Hall, Wickham Manor, and Elmwood Chase all interest me.
“I know each of those. Salt Hall’s a bit farther north of Fenwick than you might want.
“What do you know of Wickham Manor and Elmwood Chase?” he asked.
“Both are fine properties.” She detailed their histories, including the death of one owner. Then explained what she knew of the lands to be purchased with the manors.
“Do you suppose superstition is the reason that manor’s empty?”
“Possibly. Are you superstitious, Mr. Copefort?”
“Not in the least.” He finished his sandwich and drank the last of his tea, setting the cup and saucer on a side table.
“Miss Fenneman, I doubt you are superstitious either,” Kit commented.
“Why would you say that?” She, too, put her tea aside.
“You dismissed the idea of a faery blessing on the local waters.”
“I do recall saying something to that effect when we met at Mr. Beuth’s shop.”
“I find your aversion to mythic nonsense comforting, Miss Fenneman, as I share that preference.”
“Really?”
“Indeed, this shared aversion leads me to believe we might share other interests in common. I am encouraged to ask if perhaps you, and your maid of course, would enjoy driving out with me on my next visits to the properties we’ve discussed?”
“I am flattered you asked, Mr. Copefort, and I gladly…”
“Asked what, Daughter?”
Kit followed her gaze to the figure standing in the doorway.
“Welcome home, Father.” Miss Fenneman stood and went to him, taking his hands. She cast a glance behind him. “Where’re your guest and Mr. Brookbank?”
Kit stood as well, turning to face the blackguard approaching with his daughter.
“Our guest found himself indisposed and has gone immediately to his chambers. I expect him to recover in time for supper, at which time I’ll introduce you to your fiancé.
Brookbank’s seeing to some errands in Fenwick.
Now what’s this about flattering questions?
And who is this gentleman?” Fenneman turned an icy gaze on Kit.
Fiancé? Kit looked at Meg. She smiled and nodded at her father, but her face had gone pale.
Were he less confidant, Fenneman’s coldness might’ve been intimidated Kit, but years at war and the knowledge his host was a criminal—no matter his daughter’s affection for the man—allowed Kit to keep a cool and disinterested demeanor.
“Father, this is Mr. Christian Copefort. He’s visiting Fenwick on Sea while he looks for a place to settle. Mr. Copefort, may I present my father, Squire Fenneman, former Major of the Commissariat Corps.”
“Copefort,” Fenneman sneered. “I heard Breakneck Copefort was in Fenwick. Daughter, this gentleman—and I use the term loosely—isn’t a person you should entertain.
I’m most disappointed.” Fenneman’s voice rose.
“I instructed you to have nothing to do with him. I now have cause to regret allowing you any freedom while I was gone. I’d hoped you learned your lesson about proper behavior and discretion. I see you haven’t.”
A flush crept over her cheeks as her father scolded.
Allowing freedom, learning lessons? What’s the man talking about?
“I am sorry you are disappointed, Father,” she said stiffly. “However, I am of age and able to make my own decisions concerning whom I do or don’t see.”
Fenneman’s face purpled. His hand rose.
Had Kit not seen fright flash through Miss Fenneman’s gaze, her stoic stance might have fooled him into believing the squire’s impending violence an empty threat.
Before the man could strike, Kit grabbed his arm then stepped between father and daughter.
The squire glared at Kit as he forced the older man’s arm down to his side before releasing him.
“You must forgive Miss Fenneman, sir. She’s been nothing but kind to a stranger. I’ve given her no cause to believe our acquaintance is inappropriate. Nonetheless, I will respect your wishes and bid both of you good evening.”
Fenneman leaned toward the bell pull near the door.
“Do not disturb your servants, Squire. I’ll see myself out.”
“Be warned,” the squire snarled. “If I find you near my daughter again, or hear of any encounter between you, I’ll have you arrested and see you transported to Australia.”
Kit didn’t respond. He’d better connections than Fenneman and doubted the man could make good on his threats. “Out of respect for your position in the community, I shan’t approach your daughter again.”
If Margaret Fenneman chose to defy her father, approaching Kit on her own, that was a different matter.
He wouldn’t support the imposition of anyone’s whim on a sane and intelligent adult.
Miss Fenneman was so much more than that.
Her father was a fool twice over for not recognizing his daughter’s worth as more than a bargaining chip in a matrimonial business deal.