Thomas raised a brow. “As he will concede? If he feels so strongly about bringing her into his household, surely he has the power to enforce his will.”
Trembath laughed once, giving him a sly look. “Emblyn holds the power in this struggle, Granger. She has lived independently for years and is quite accustomed to doing so. Even has her own cottage near Wheal Drennick. She has allowed Basset to give her an allowance of sorts to occasionally stock her small larder and will occasionally attend dinner parties at his home. But she will not attend balls or Society events, will not sit as mistress of Trevadden, and will not give up her cottage.”
Thomas took another look at the young woman talking with his wife. She was certainly beautiful and could set herself up quite nicely among Society if she would allow it, particularly as an acknowledged sister of Lord Basset. Why would she not take the chance her brother offered her?
“She does not wish to,” Trembath told him, answering the unspoken question. “She has made it perfectly clear to Basset that if he wishes to have her as his sister, it must be on her own terms.”
“Not quite what he imagined in saving her, is it?” Thomas asked with a laugh.
Trembath grunted once. “Saving her, you say? I think he rather wanted a sister, Granger, not a devotee.”
That sobered Thomas creditably, and he began to look at the sitting women with more interest. His wife’s back was to him, but as he watched, Miss Moyle’s posture began to soften, her expression ease into a more natural state. He had to smile at that, knowing Lily must be putting her at ease in that remarkable way she had. Any person, male or female, high or low, could find themselves comfortable within moments. It was a gift she possessed, and one of her least appreciated.
Miss Moyle would understand the beauty of it now, especially if she had been previously subjected to the forced politeness of others unwilling to directly insult her brother.
“Why invite those who do not accept her?” he asked Trembath, shaking his head as he caught sight of the disapproving ladies again.
“Because Mr. Boscastle and Sir Henry are close associates of Basset. Their wives are fine ladies with a great deal of influence in local Society. He cannot afford to invite only the husbands, so he and Emblyn must endure such behavior. And endure it they do.” Trembath shrugged, exhaling roughly. “Better them than me, I say.”
Thomas nodded in agreement. “There must be a measure of fondness between them, if they endure such behavior simply for the condition of her birth.”
“I believe there is,” Trembath assured him. “Hard won, to be sure, but it is there.”
“How long have they been connected?”
“Nigh on a year now, though they were aware of the other before then.”
“And you?” Thomas gave the man beside him a curious look. “How long have you been aware of the connection?”
Trembath met his look without concern. “From the beginning. Basset and I have been friends since our youth. I was with him when he called on her to inform her of their relationship.”
“Why not marry her and give her a respectability she cannot be denied?” Thomas suggested, managing to keep his expression blank while doing so. “She is clearly a beautiful young lady, and her father was the late Lord Basset, so…”
“Have you listened to anything I said, man?” Trembath shot back with wide eyes. “The woman would gut me the moment I inquired. She might be the daughter of the late Lord Basset, but her mother was a miner’s daughter with all the manners of one. I’ve no qualms in associating thus, and there is no denying her beauty, but I’d rather live to see any offspring. She does not wish to walk among the gentry, Granger, and she will not if she can help it.”
Thomas held up his hands in surrender, smiling in full now. “Very well, very well, I’ll not mention it again.” He chuckled and glanced toward his wife by pure habit, though her back was still to him. “Do you think Basset will try to see her married off?”
“Not if he wishes to sire children,” Trembath said at once. “The blackguard who wishes to will have to get Basset’s permission, but I have no reason to think he’s in haste to do so.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served,” Basset announced as he reentered the room, smiling for his guests. “Please.”
“Are we proceeding in by rank, or… ?” Thomas asked Trembath quickly.
Trembath shook his head at once. “Basset prefers informality when the numbers are so small. So long as you do not sit by your wife, you may sit anywhere.”
Thomas nodded and turned to offer his arm to Lily only to find that she had linked arms with Miss Moyle. Her dark eyes met his, and he could see an apology as well as a question there.
He nodded once, accepting both.
Her smile was warm and the closest thing to tender he had seen from her since their marriage, and he’d move heaven and earth to have it again.
He might not need a signal from her to be distracted out of his wits.
The guests followed Lord Basset into the spacious dining room, set for even more people than were in attendance, which Thomas found to be strange. In his experience, the table was always perfectly set for the number of guests, and neatly arranged to accommodate each of them. Why, then, the additional places?
Basset positioned himself at the head of the table as host and smiled in welcome as others began to filter in and sit where they pleased. As Trembath had suggested, spouses sat apart, but other than that, the seating was without pattern or structure.
Most noticeable of all, Miss Moyle did not take up the position as mistress of Trevadden at the opposite end of the table from her brother. There was no elderly female relation of Basset’s to fill the empty seat, and instead it sat empty. As did other seats without place settings.
Suddenly the reason for the additional settings became clear, as it was not the only open place at the table and therefore less of an obvious sight. It would still draw comment, but at least there were others.
He sat himself beside one of the open seats, Trembath sitting opposite, with Lily and Miss Moyle sitting together just down from him. Intriguing how, with Trembath on one side of her and Lily on the other, Miss Moyle was perfectly surrounded by allies.
If only Thomas had possessed the foresight to have joined them.
“Mr. Granger is it?” the woman beside him inquired as they began to eat. “I believe I heard Lord Basset introduce you.”
Thomas nodded and smiled politely at the copper-haired woman. “It is indeed, madam. I apologize for not having your name.”
She smiled with polite warmth. “No matter, sir. Mrs. Roskelley. My husband, John, owns Wheal Quick. You may have met him this morning.” She gestured farther down the table to indicate him.
“Ah, yes,” Thomas said, following her look and inclining his head when Roskelley looked at them. “Capital fellow.”
“I rather think so,” Mrs. Roskelley quipped, looking at her husband directly now.
Thomas glanced between the two as they shared what could only be called an adoring look, before Mr. Roskelley winked at his wife and then resumed his meal.
“It would appear he has a rather high opinion of you, as well, madam,” Thomas ventured to say with a smile.
She met his eyes, her smile genuine and bright. “We are dreadfully obvious, are we not? Forgive me, coming from London you must think us scandalous.”
Thomas sipped his water, shaking his head. “On the contrary, I consider a happily married couple a pleasant surprise, and the display of such to be quite refreshing.”
Mrs. Roskelley dipped her chin in a pleased nod. “Thank you, sir. I hope we shall not wear upon your indulgence.” She took a careful sip of water before glancing down the table toward Lily and Miss Moyle, who were still engaged in deep conversation, the meal before them almost forgotten.
“That is well done of your wife, sir. If I may say so.”
Thomas smiled as he looked at Lily himself, his heart lurching hard to the left when her e
yes raised to his, and the corner of her lips quirked.
What did she see in him to make that happen? What made the dark depths of her lovely eyes turn warm in that moment? What had he done to earn any measure of affection?
“Everything my wife does is well done,” Thomas murmured, not bothering to hide the adoration in his voice when he did so. “Everything.”
“I see you have a rather high opinion of your wife yourself, Mr. Granger,” Mrs. Roskelley replied from his side, amusement ringing in every word.
Thomas smiled at being so easily caught after what seemed a lifetime of disguising his feelings. “So it would seem, Mrs. Roskelley. What do you know of Miss Moyle?”
“What everyone knows, sir,” came the honest response. “I have known Basset for many years, and there were always rumors of his father’s profligacy, though never any proof of illegitimate children. Basset was nothing like his father, though the same cannot be said for his younger brother Richard. Cut from the same wool, I am afraid. Basset has more than once had to take time away from his business in London to fetch his brother from some brothel or gambling den where he has spent more than he possesses.”
“Has he cut his brother off?” Thomas asked in a lower voice, not wishing to be overheard by other guests at the table. “Persuaded him to find employment?”
Mrs. Roskelley laughed very softly without humor. “I believe he has tried everything, Mr. Granger. I no longer have his confidence, as is right, but Richard Basset is a wastrel, and there is very little hope he will change. Basset pays his brother’s gambling debts, removes him from his place of scandal, and nurses him back to health before returning to his duties and letting Richard do as he will. He does not give him money to spend, but neither does he let his brother go to a debtor’s prison.”
It was a tragedy in so many respects, some avoidable and some not, but to maintain that loyalty under such strain was admirable, even if it was also foolhardy. “Has he any other siblings?”
She shook her head. “No, which is undoubtedly one of the reasons he was so eager to find Miss Moyle when he could. His father said nothing about her when he was alive, though he did not deny the connection to her mother. Once he died and Basset inherited, he learned of her existence and sought her out, eager to form a family connection. Given his behavior with Richard, you can only imagine his determination in persuading her to go along with him.”
Thomas shook his head, smiling wryly. “And yet, Trembath tells me Miss Moyle is the one with the stubborn streak.”
“If there was no other likeness between them,” Mrs. Roskelley echoed with a bemused smile, leaving the thought unfinished.
There was nothing to do but nod at that, both looking at the handsome girl now laughing with Lily as though she was perfectly at ease in her surroundings and among the company.
“I think, Mrs. Roskelley,” Thomas mused, glancing back at her, “you might be a useful friend to my wife and me.”
“I should hope so, sir.” Her eyes narrowed, her smile deepening. “Did you have a particular use in mind this evening?”
Thomas thought about it, then slid his eyes pointedly across the table. “I know Basset well enough from our communication over the last few years, but Trembath I’ve only met today. Are you as familiar with him as you are with Basset?”
Mrs. Roskelley lifted a glass in a very small toast. “I may claim Gage Trembath as my first husband, Mr. Granger. We wed when I was five, and he very kindly agreed to an annulment when Mr. Roskelley took an interest.”
“Very magnanimous of him,” Thomas complimented, finding himself envious of the childhood of affection his new acquaintances seemed to have had.
Was that part of the magic of Cornwall? Or was it simply a matter of taste for their parents? Thomas had no complaints about his own upbringing, but it had certainly been staunchly formal. He had no childhood friends he could remember with any degree of fondness, and certainly no childhood sweethearts to laugh over.
He’d never given great thought to the sort of parent he would be when the day came that he and Lily should have children, but the matter was certainly making itself more considered of late.
“The Trembath family is one of the most respected families in all of Cornwall,” Mrs. Roskelley told Thomas quietly, as the man in question was sitting closer to them than their host was. “And Gage has only improved upon that reputation. Not necessarily a man of great fortune, but in the last few years, his prospects have improved with the prosperity of his estate and mines. As loyal a man as you could hope to find, and one of the least changeable I have ever met.”
“Steady, then,” Thomas suggested, nodding in thought.
Mrs. Roskelley hummed in thought, not seeming entirely convinced by the word choice. “Yes, I suppose, though I was thinking more of stubborn and immovable.” She gave Thomas a quick smile. “I know him too well to find it entirely positive.”
“I’m sensing a trend in my new Cornwall friends,” Thomas mused. “Stubbornness, is it?”
“It’s a Cornish tradition, sir, and not always to our credit.” She peered across the table toward Trembath, then returned her attention to Thomas. “Perhaps it is not for me to say, Mr. Granger, but Gage had an understanding a few years ago with a wealthy young woman in our circles. Margaret Teague, now Lady Hastings in Devon. She chose to marry Lord Hastings rather than pursue an official engagement with Gage, which shocked many, though the prospects of Lord Hastings outweighed Gage in all temporal means.”
Thomas carefully cast his eyes over to the man, now laughing comfortably with those around him, even leaning forward to comment on something Miss Moyle or Lily had said. “Was he very disappointed?”
Mrs. Roskelley nodded, taking a bite of her dinner and chewing delicately. “I daresay he felt betrayed. He withdrew entirely for a time, even went to work in his own mines to keep himself from going mad. But he has since rallied and never speaks of her. I cannot say he does not think of her, but…”
“You think he will put off getting married until he has fully recovered?” Thomas asked, looking at the man again.
“I do not see how he can,” she confessed, looking truly concerned for the first time. “He may never fully recover, and he must take a wife soon. He must.”
Thomas exhaled softly, his previous feelings of envy evaporating as he thought of such pressures. He had not been pressed into matrimony by family responsibilities or duty or heritage. He could not even claim his marriage had been the obvious choice in his previous financial predicaments. It had been the easiest, certainly, but he could have built his circumstances back on his own. He’d still be fighting his way into true solvency now, he had no doubt, but he’d had no understanding to betray or to follow through with.
He’d known shame but hardly betrayal. He had known hurt but not disappointment. He had known withdrawal but not loneliness.
However much he might have hated his situation, he suddenly felt rather fortunate in it.
Not once had he ever doubted his wife’s loyalty nor felt any wound by her hand. He never had cause to curse her name nor wish he’d never planted his affections on her. She’d never chosen someone else over him.
Then again, he’d never given her the option to. He’d never asked her to marry him, come to think. He’d asked her father, then gone and done it. He had no idea if she’d have married someone else, given the chance.
His eyes shifted down the table to her, to the glorious image of resplendent finery, smiling and perfectly at ease. She would have made any man a perfect wife and treated them with the same loyalty and respect. It simply was her nature, and her goodness would have given any husband of politeness reason to adore her.
If she were free of him, where would she go? And to whom?
“Sober expression, Mr. Granger,” Mrs. Roskelley suddenly broke in, the desolate-trending muddle of his thoughts cracking with her words. “Anything the matter?”
He shook his head, wrenching his eyes from his wife and returning t
o the meal at hand. “Not at all, just considering my good fortune compared to the tragedy you’ve just relayed.”
“He’s no martyr, sir,” she assured him with a laugh. “If ever the pair of you grow close enough for confidence on the subject, he’ll insist it prompted him to grow up, and he’ll be better for it in the end.”
“We tell ourselves all sorts of things, Mrs. Roskelley,” Thomas assured her. “Anything to reduce the pain and give ourselves distance.”
“That sounds like the voice of experience.”
He made no reply to that, taking a sip of wine and allowing himself to meet the eyes of the man across the table about whom they had been speaking.
“Oh, dear,” Trembath muttered with a good-natured smile. “I don’t like the looks of this. What have you been telling him, Julia?”
Mrs. Roskelley shrugged, grinning with a warm familiarity. “Only how you jilted me and left me with no option but to marry John.”
He coughed in mock distress, bringing laughter from all around them, and turning all attention onto their discussion with anticipation. Clearly, this was a long-held joke many of them were well aware of, and this argument one of entertainment.
“I beg your pardon, madam, but I was not the one begging to be let out of our arrangement to wed another.” He shook his head, sighing dramatically and looking down at Lily. “Mrs. Granger, I will have you know that Mrs. Roskelley had been my wife for fifteen years before she left me for him. Fifteen years of my life I gave her, and now she blames me.”
Lily adopted an appropriately doleful expression. “You have my most sincere sympathies, sir. I cannot imagine how you have suffered.”
Trembath nodded in acceptance, casting a smirk at Mrs. Roskelley. “At last. Someone with the graciousness to acknowledge my pain. You see, Julia? Not everyone takes your side in this.”
Basset sighed heavily, shaking his head from the head of the table. “Just once. Just once I’d hoped that I could host an evening with the pair of you in attendance and not have the conversation return to this topic.”
Something Old Page 13