by Jayne Davis
Will stared up at the canopy over the bed, listening to Connie’s slow breathing. She’d fallen asleep soon after they curled up together, but his mind still buzzed with the events of the day. Sandow’s death was for the best—dead, he couldn’t escape from jail, or intimidate juries to return a verdict of not guilty. That was logical, but he heard again the sickening sound as Sandow’s head hit the hearth.
Could he have done anything differently? He wasn’t sure—too much had depended on the actions Roberts and the other Ashmouth men had chosen to take.
Archer had done very well. He would make a good go-between for the liaison between Will and the smuggling operation. Danny could be useful, too, when he was older, but the first thing to do for him was to get his family back home.
Connie’s breathing changed; she wriggled and snuggled closer to him.
With her in his arms, he was at peace.
Chapter 44
Wednesday 23rd July
“This has arrived for Lord Wingrave, my lady.” Warren entered and laid a letter on the corner of the desk. “Stubbs brought it down from Ashton St Andrew when he returned from Ottery. Mr Nancarrow said he’d get the Traskers sent home as soon as he could.”
“Thank you, Warren.”
Will and Archer had set off early to take the three prisoners and Sandow’s body to Exeter. He might not be back for hours. She picked up the letter—there was no harm in seeing who it was from.
The frank was a scrawl, but the name looked like Tregarth. Could their plan to get Marstone to sell Ashton Tracey have worked already? It would be good thing, if so. Will could concentrate on his business with Talbot, and on improving the tenant farms. He might have to manage that with no further money from his father—the allowance Marstone had made would certainly stop. A man such as the Earl of Marstone would have great influence, and could surely make their lives difficult in other ways as well, if he chose to.
A shiver of unease ran through her as she remembered telling Will about her true ancestry. Will might not mind, but his father certainly would. She hoped Will would not feel the need to taunt his father with that information.
The sun was slanting low through the windows when Will returned, still covered in dust from the road, and joined Connie in her parlour. “All dealt with,” he said. “There’ll have to be an inquest on Sandow, and I’ll need to be at the assizes when the other three are tried, but the magistrate didn’t foresee any difficulties.”
“That’s good.”
Her smile warmed him as he took the letter she held out.
“Sir John?” He broke the seal and unfolded the page, a grin spreading across his face as he read. “Marstone sold Ashton Tracey to one of Sir John’s colleagues, and he has signed it over to me, as agreed. Sir John says the documents are being forwarded to Kellet in Exeter. He didn’t say how he got Marstone to do so—I’ll get the full story out of him next time I see him.”
“Does it matter?” Connie asked, her voice sounding rather flat.
“It would amuse me to know. Connie, this is good news—this is our home now, properly. My father cannot take it away.” Finally, he would be able to live his life as he wished to. As long as he could keep up the mortgage payments, but between improved rents and some income from smuggling, he should be able to manage that. “Sir John says that Marstone volunteered to come here and ensure the place was ready for its new owner.”
“That doesn’t sound like… Oh. He means to come and evict you himself?”
“No doubt. And to read the riot act and escort me—us—back to Marstone Park.” His father had spied on him and dictated to him for years—the tables would be well and truly turned. “I have to say this will be the first time I’m actually looking forward to meeting him.”
Connie didn’t look pleased.
“What about you, Connie? Don’t you want your father to know he’ll not be gaining by selling you off?”
“No, Will. I just want to forget about him. Please don’t invite him here on my account.”
Getting up, he crossed to her chair and put one hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t if you don’t want me to. Time for bed?”
Friday 25th July
Marstone came two days later. Will had been in the village discussing the possibilities for smuggling, and saw his father’s coach as he rode into the stable yard.
“When did he arrive?” he asked, as Archer took Mercury from him.
“A couple of hours, maybe, my lord.”
Damn. Had Connie had to entertain him for all that time? He hurried round to the front of the house—he did not want his father to upset her.
Warren awaited him. “His lordship is in the large drawing room, my lord.”
“Lady Wingrave?”
“Er, Lady Wingrave was in the kitchen gardens when Lord Marstone arrived. She said she was not at home to visitors.”
Will’s anxiety lessened. “She is not with him?”
“No, my lord. I understand she is still in the gardens. His lordship was not pleased.”
I’ll bet he wasn’t. Will recalled his father’s description of Connie as obedient and knowing her place, and he couldn’t help smiling.
“He went so far as to order me to fetch her, my lord.”
Will’s brows drew together. That was going too far.
Warren cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I resorted to untruths, my lord, and claimed not to know where she was.”
“Good man.” Will startled Warren by clapping him on the shoulder. He debated whether his father would be more enraged if he took the time to change, or if he presented himself in all his dirt.
Go now. The sooner Marstone was on his way again, the sooner Connie would feel she could come back indoors.
In the drawing room, his father sat by the fireplace, his face set in its usual lines of disapproval.
“A fine time to show yourself, Wingrave. I’ve been waiting for hours. Hours!”
“That’s hardly my fault. I didn’t know you were coming.” Will sat on the arm of the facing chair, swinging one leg.
“I have been left here alone. Your wife had not the courtesy—”
“You had not the courtesy to inform us of your visit.” Will took a deep breath. Losing his temper would only satisfy his father that he was winning.
“You should have expected it.” The earl’s expression smoothed, his lips curving in a cold smile. “After what I heard of your activities.”
“What did you hear?”
“You’ve been dallying with that strumpet again. I told you not to—”
“Is this the talk in town?” He hoped not, for Connie’s sake. It would be a few years before they needed to be there to support Theresa and Lizzie, but he didn’t want people even thinking about Connie as someone unlucky enough to have an unfaithful husband.
“Your housekeeper informed me,” the earl said. “Sir John Tregarth, too—it seems he saw her in Exeter. I warned you, Wingrave, in the most specific terms. I said if you flouted my conditions I would sell this place to pay your debts, and I have done so. You will return with me to Marstone Park. In addition to ensuring your behaviour is appropriate, your wife clearly needs further instruction on the manners expected of a well-born lady.”
The earl leaned back in his seat, his mouth now expressing malicious satisfaction.
Will smiled—Connie’s true ancestry would wipe the sneer from Marstone’s face. His father would be livid. He’d…
What will he do?
His smile faded. Annulment? Will would not countenance such a thing, but that would not stop Marstone trying to make it happen. Although Charters had deceived Marstone about Connie’s true birth, the Church wouldn’t consider that sufficient grounds even if Will applied for an annulment himself. But his father would stir up gossip, scandal. He didn’t care about that for himself, but it would be very unpleasant for Connie.
“Well, boy, have you nothing to say?”
Will gazed at his father, seeing the earl’s smirk beginning
to fade. He could tell his father that Ashton Tracey was now his, and enjoy the earl’s defeat.
“What do you want me to say?”
Perhaps his father’s bewilderment was sufficient revenge, although he’d only spoken to gain time. What was it Fancott had said—no, quoted? Something like the best revenge was to not be like your enemy.
He’d won, even though his father didn’t know it yet. Marstone would find out in due course, but there was enough satisfaction in being free of him, with a useful occupation and a wife he loved. And he’d be more able to help his sisters, when the time came, if he didn’t gloat now.
“An apology for your disobedience, at least. You will return—”
“I will vacate the house as soon as the new owner asks me to in person,” Will said, now needing no effort to keep his voice calm. “Do you wish for some refreshment before you leave?”
Marstone appeared to be lost for words. Will rang the bell, and asked Warren to ensure the earl’s coach was readied for departure.
“You cannot eject me from my own—”
“You sold it,” Will reminded him. “I do not want my wife upset by confrontations, so I think it best you leave now.”
“Nonsense. You will accompany me—”
“No. I will not upend this household at a moment’s notice.” Or ever, not at your command.
He rang the bell again, ignoring his father’s tirade.
“Lord Marstone is leaving now,” he said, when Warren reappeared. “Father, I bid you farewell.”
He ran Connie to earth in one corner of the kitchen garden, beyond the rows of carrots Stubbs was hoeing. Work on the garden was proceeding much faster now the two extra men no longer had to watch for intruders. Someone had brought a chair and small table for her, and she sat in the shade of a pear tree, concentrating on something in her hands.
Embroidery, he saw, as he got closer, his heart lifting at the sight of her bent head in the dappled shade, and at the ready smile with which she greeted him.
How could he even have contemplated throwing her ancestry in his father’s face? He would do nothing to harm her, everything to keep her safe.
Her smile dimmed quickly to concern.
“He’s leaving,” Will stated.
“You’re not angry that I didn’t—?”
“Good grief, no. I was worried in case he’d upset you.”
She shook her head, but the happy smile did not return. “What will he do now?”
“Connie, all will be well, I promise. Will you walk with me?”
She nodded, sticking her needle into the fabric and tidying her threads into a small box at her feet.
“I thought we could go to Lion Rocks,” he said. “I need to get something from my room first.”
By the time Will came back outside, Connie was waiting, holding a basket with bottled lemonade and ale, and a slab of cake. Will took it from her, putting something of his own beneath the cloth before holding his elbow out.
She took his arm, wondering what he’d said to the earl. His face looked thoughtful now, not worried as it had been when he joined her in the garden earlier. She’d been expecting triumph, or anger, depending on how their meeting had gone.
“I didn’t say much to my father in the end,” Will said, before she asked. “I just said we wouldn’t be moving out until the new owner asked us to.” He looked down at her, his smile gentle. “That’s not what you were expecting, I know. I’ll explain when we get there.”
They walked on, Connie’s heart feeling lighter. There might still be trouble from the earl ahead, but Will hadn’t made it worse by taunting him. They would face any future problems together.
Once through the band of trees, the waves on the rocks below sounded louder, the cries of the gulls harsher. Connie sat on a rock, the sparkle of sun on the sea still a novelty to her.
Will uncovered the basket, but instead of bringing out the food, he picked up a small box. He opened it and rummaged in its contents, dropping several rings into her lap.
“Your mother’s rings?” A bubble of happiness rose inside her. These were a gift. The gowns and things he’d bought for her in Exeter were necessities, he’d said, when she’d tried to thank him.
“Yes. She wanted my wife to have some of her jewels. My sisters have already chosen a few pieces each. These rings—I’d like you to have one, as well as whatever else you like. I’ve left the other pieces in the house.” He reached over to spread them out on her lap. “Which do you prefer?”
They were fine rings, delicate, without the ostentatious gems of her own wedding ring. The prettiest, she thought, was a simple band set with tiny sapphires.
“This one,” she said, turning it in her fingers so the gems caught the sunlight. “The colour reminds me of the sea on days like today.” She looked directly at him. “They match your eyes, too.”
She’d expected—hoped, even—that he’d take that as invitation for a caress or a kiss, but he only smiled briefly before his expression became serious again.
“I like that one too.” He took the rings from her and put them in the box, keeping back only the one she had chosen. Rather than give it back to her, he held it in the palm of one hand.
“Connie, before… when we married, I was bored, frustrated with having nothing to do. I resented the way my father tried to control—did control my life. When he forced me to wed, I wanted to revenge myself on him.”
Connie nodded; she knew that.
“You have made me realise how futile that was. Today, I didn’t tell him about your parents for fear of the scandal he might cause. I know I’m no stranger to scandal, but it would be horrible for you. The idea of revenging myself on him didn’t seem important any more. As you said about your own father, he can’t bother us now. He doesn’t even know yet that we will own Ashton Tracey.”
“I’m glad, Will.” For herself, but for him too, that he’d made that decision.
“Whatever happens in the future, Connie, we’ll discuss things, and make decisions between us.”
He broke off, glancing away for a moment. When he looked back, his expression was rueful. “I’m making a mess of this, Connie. What I want to say is that whatever my father’s motivations were for forcing us to marry, I’m glad he did. You’ve made me see things more clearly, you’re turning me into a better man.”
She couldn’t take the credit for that, but it was lovely of him to say so. “Will, you did that yourself.”
He ignored her words. Instead, he reached out and took her left hand in his, easing off the heavy Marstone wedding ring. Then her breath caught as he picked up the sapphire ring she’d chosen.
“Connie, I love you. Will you take this ring as my pledge for our life together, and my love for you?”
Tears pricked her eyes at his words, at the uncertainty in his face. She’d hoped to hear such words one day, but hadn’t really expected to.
“Yes,” she managed to say, past the lump in her throat. “Of our love for each other.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger, and gently pulled her to her feet. “Partners, Connie?” he whispered.
“And lovers.”
That kiss was one she would always remember, the sounds of the surf and the gulls fading as her world shrank to the joy of being in his arms.
All would be well.
THE END
Thank you for reading Sauce for the Gander; I hope you enjoyed it. If you can spare a few minutes, could you leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads? You only need to write a few words.
Sauce for the Gander is Book 1 in the Marstone Series. Each book will be a complete story, with no cliffhangers.
Coming soon: A Winning Trick is a 20,000 word extended epilogue for Sauce for the Gander, relating what happens three years later when Will has to confront his father again.
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Also by Jayne Davis
The Mrs MacKinnons
England, 1799
Major Matthew Southam returns from India, hoping to put the trauma of war behind him and forget his past. Instead, he finds a derelict estate and a family who wish he'd died abroad.
Charlotte MacKinnon married without love to avoid her father’s unpleasant choice of husband. Now a widow with a young son, she lives in a small Cotswold village with only the money she earns by her writing.
Matthew is haunted by his past, and Charlotte is fearful of her father’s renewed meddling in her future. After a disastrous first meeting, can they help each other find happiness?
Available from Amazon on Kindle and in paperback. Read free in Kindle Unlimited.
About the Author
I wanted to be a writer when I was in my teens, hooked on Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer (and lots of other authors). Real life intervened, and I had several careers, including as a non-fiction author under another name. That wasn’t quite the writing career I had in mind, but finally I am writing historical romance.
www.jaynedavisromance.co.uk