by Beverley, Jo
Still kneeling, he looked up at her. “You don’t think highly of me.”
“I adore you, but that’s all the more reason to cling by my nails to sense. David, I drew up this plan of marriage with some anonymous man in mind. Now that it’s you, it is different, but I see no reason to change my plan. It makes sense.”
He stood in such a way that she feared she’d misjudged him disastrously. If he couldn’t tolerate such a situation, would she have to surrender all? Could she, even ruled by love?
“Is your father as inflexible?” he asked.
“What in heaven has my father to do with this? If you think to get him to persuade me to give it all to you, you’re mad on all counts.”
“No, not that . . .”
“Are you saying you couldn’t bear my keeping some control of my money?”
She waited, breath held, but he looked at her blankly. “Not at all, though my aunt and uncle disapprove.”
Lucy didn’t know what was going on. “You discussed me with them?”
“They seem able to read me like an open book. Come to the mirror in my room to tidy your hair.”
“But . . .”
Then Lucy decided it would be better not to push too much for now. He’d said he didn’t mind the financial arrangements, and he’d meant it.
Just as he’d meant it when he’d once said that he didn’t intend to marry her.
“Secrets?” she said as she went into the room and applied a comb to her hair, which had turned riotous in the steamy bath. “This is such a mess.”
“It’s delightful. A golden halo.”
“An angel now, am I?”
She saw his grin in the mirror. “No.”
She hadn’t wanted to bother with extra hatboxes, but that meant she had only the plain brown bonnet, which didn’t go with this gown. What had she been thinking? The thought of meeting David’s family, his possibly disapproving family, improperly dressed, finally had her in a twitch.
“There’s no need to fuss,” he said impatiently. “Come on.”
She gave up, found the large Norwich shawl she’d brought, and closed her valise. He picked it up and she set off with him, feeling a complete mess.
He took her down the normal stairs to the great hall. A well-built young man was crossing it.
“Ah, my dear, I introduce you to my secretary, Chumley.”
Fred, Lucy remembered as she greeted him. She liked the look of him—steady, clever, and amiable. But then she remembered him saying he’d threatened, no promised, to break a bully’s ribs, and sensed that in him.
Another dragon? Did they breed them in these parts, or was it the country way to be strong and ready for violence? That should give a sensible lady pause, but she was beyond that sort of sense.
As she and David left the house, she asked, “Is he the sort of secretary you can discuss everything with?”
“He’s a friend as well, yes.”
“I assume he has clerks.”
“He, like me, must make do.”
“He, like you, will be better off once we’re married.”
He gave her a look. “You steal my chance to beg for your hand and heart?”
“You mind?” she teased, and was shocked when he said, “Yes. But only that we’ve done things inside out. It must be the damned house,” he added, looking back at the Crag.
“I don’t mind any of it,” she said, linking arms with him and turning him away. But when they came to the steep path down, she said, “I wish I had a rope.”
“You have me, and I’ve never so much as slipped.”
“Yes,” she said happily. “I have you.”
She remembered then that they never had talked about secrets, but she could wait a little longer. This moment was too pleasant to shadow in any way.
Chapter 32
They paused at the fork in the path to look out to sea again. The ship was still in sight.
“Don’t they have anything better to do?” she asked.
“Alas, no. The government’s reluctant to reduce the navy for fear of new trouble from France, so those based in British ports patrol the coasts like sharks.”
“The navy are our national heroes, and they’re trying to prevent a criminal trade. I wish you weren’t so indulgent of the smugglers.”
“I told you, Lucy, smuggling is like the sea. I can disapprove as much as I want, but that won’t stop it coming in and out with the tides, or slamming destructively against the cliffs in a storm. I have to live with it, and if we marry, so will you.”
“If?” she echoed, staring at him.
“When. The ‘if’ is in case you’re thinking better of it.”
How close they’d come to an edge. “There is no better without you. I’ll do my best to understand.”
“Don’t pretend regular trade is any more blessed. Think what happens around the world so that goods can be brought here for our pleasure and indulgence. Natives tricked, bullied, and sometimes slaughtered. . . .”
She put a hand over his. “Don’t. Don’t let’s fight these wars, not now at least. I understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m sorry, love, but it angers me that the crimes of the common people are crushed whilst those of the rich and titled are winked at.”
“Never say you’re a republican?”
“A republican earl?”
“Perhaps one step up from the Peasant Earl,” she replied, relieved to have moved onto lighter ground. There were serious issues to discuss, but not yet, when they still had so many minor tests to endure. He obviously thought the same way, for they came together easily for a kiss.
Crunching footsteps moved them apart.
A man came up the path from the sea, a heavy-shouldered man who moved ponderously like an ox, whose face turned surly when he saw them. He touched his forelock, however, as he passed, muttering, “M’lord.”
“Saul,” David said sharply.
The man turned back.
“I hear Lovey suffered an injury.”
Saul. The man who’d cracked his wife’s ribs and was in the habit of beating her.
“Aye, m’lord. She fell.”
“You need to take more care of her.” It was calmly said, but the man flinched.
“She’s clumsy-like, m’lord!” the man protested, but then hastily added, “But I will take better care of her, m’lord.”
David merely nodded.
The man hurried on, stumbling for a moment in his haste.
Lucy had never thought that modern peers needed to be dragons in ruling their territories, but perhaps it was so, particularly in the wilder parts of the country. She remembered that David’s secretary had threatened to break that beefy man’s ribs if he harmed his wife again and seemed confident of being able to do it. David had said he’d do the same, and just now silently threatened it. The man, Applin, had believed it and hurried away, afraid. Really, she shouldn’t be so delighted by the idea of violent retribution, but she’d always known she wasn’t a lady in the proper sense.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That you’re an unusual earl, but that I’m an unusual lady, so we’re well matched.”
* * *
Lucy enjoyed the return to the more normal village and felt cheered when a woman in a garden called out a good-day. But then she said, “Oh, dear.”
“What?” he asked.
“I went up the hill in one outfit and I’m returning in another.”
“Hell. You’ve addled my wits.”
“I like that, except—will your aunt be terribly shocked?”
“Don’t worry. She’ll blame me, and she’ll be appeased by news of our imminent wedding.”
“You haven’t begged for my hand and heart yet.”
“You didn’t give me a chance. You can’t have it both ways.”
“I can try,” she said with a smile.
He laughed and kissed her. “I’ll get a license.”
“I’d prefer banns,” she
said. “I want to declare our love before our congregations.”
“A license would be faster.”
“Why haste? Bad enough that people here might guess we’ve anticipated the wedding. I don’t want my friends and family in London to think the same thing. And remember, my father marries in a week. Rushing to the altar days before him would cause terrible talk.”
It seemed he might continue to press for a license, but then he shrugged. “As you will.”
“What bothers you, David? Speak to me.”
“I don’t want anything or anyone to come between us.”
She paused to touch his cheek. “Nothing will, love. Nothing can. We’re both of age, and with my money we are of independent means.” Careless of the fact that they could be seen, she drew his head down and kissed him. “I think I owe you some kisses.”
“I know you wiped the slate clean not long ago.”
For some reason that made her blush, which made him laugh. He took her hand and led her on.
* * *
David felt more adrift than he ever had, tangled by dizzy love and glimpses of future heaven, but weighed down by sure knowledge of disaster in the wings.
He’d promised to reveal his secrets and meant it. There’d been reason to want to get dressed before a serious discussion, and also reason to bring Lucy to the manor as soon as possible. He knew he’d grasped the excuses, however, putting off the moment, as if something could happen to make it unnecessary to disturb her happiness.
She thought he’d merely played at smuggling when a lad, and been shocked by that. She had no idea that he was now leader of the smugglers, or that her father was trying to overrule her will and threatening retribution.
He took her to the front entrance to the manor, which was rarely used, the back being more convenient from the village. A little formality seemed in order for such a moment. The entrance had a modest portico and the short drive ended in enough space for a carriage to turn, for the front of the manor faced a road of sorts, but he knew to Lucy it must seem a track.
“It’s a pretty house,” she said, “but not as large as I expected.”
“It was a farmhouse two hundred years ago and isn’t much changed since. The Kerslakes are farming stock, but then, so are the Somerfords.
“I like the flowers everywhere.”
“Yes, the Crag and the manor are two different worlds.”
“Something can be done,” she said with blissful confidence.
Probably when he told her the whole situation, she’d have the same response.
I’m Captain Drake.
Something can be done.
Your father is determined we will not marry.
Something can be done.
No. Her father’s interference was bound to upset her, so he’d keep that from her if he could.
He wanted to save her from all distress, but knew that was impossible. He could only strive to reduce the pain.
* * *
Lucy approached the door nervously, because David seemed tense. He’d said his family would be anxious to meet her, and that his aunt would demand a wedding if she realized their sin, but he hadn’t said they’d approve of her.
The house didn’t present a hostile front. The rose-surrounded door stood open and they simply walked into a paneled hall that smelled delightfully of lavender and potpourri. An old dog stood to amble over and greet David, who fondled its ears.
“We’ll go through to the kitchen,” he said.
But then a pretty, brown-haired young woman appeared from the back of the house, wearing an apron over her dress. “So there you are! We were about to go in search of you.” She was smiling brightly, especially at Lucy, but her expression was full of curiosity.
“Lucy, I present my cousin, Amelia Kerslake. Amelia, this is Miss Lucy Potter.”
“We guessed as much,” Amelia said to Lucy, “when word spread that a lady had arrived for David.”
To Lucy that sounded as if she were a parcel, but Amelia Kerslake showed no sign of coldness.
“Mama will be here in a moment,” she said. “She felt the need to put off her apron and straighten her cap to greet David’s bride. I suppose I should, too. Take off my apron, I mean.” She began to untie the strings.
“Amy!” protested an older, plumper woman, joining them, cheeks flushed. “Don’t run on so.” But she, too, was beaming as she took Lucy’s hands. “How lovely to meet you, my dear. I hope your journey here went smoothly. Come into the parlor and we’ll have tea.”
“Thank you,” said Lucy, unable to stop smiling herself. “No one has thus far offered me refreshment.”
“Davy!” his aunt exclaimed. “What have you been up to all this time?”
Perhaps David blushed. “A tour of the Crag.”
“Which does have a kitchen.”
“Aunt Miriam, Lucy Potter. Lucy, my aunt, Lady Kerslake.”
“Away with you!” his aunt protested, laughing. “I’ll be your aunt Miriam, too, dear.”
Lucy wasn’t sure if that was a statement or prediction but she shed any idea of being unwelcome.
“I wonder you dared,” Amelia said to David as they all crossed to a room. She added to Lucy, “I’ve been telling and telling him that no woman will marry him unless he does improvements there. Isn’t it horrid?”
“Horrid enough for a novel,” Lucy agreed.
“Oh, do you read novels, too? I adore them. But I still wouldn’t want to live in the Crag.”
“Not even for love?”
“Oh, for that, of course. And you have money, so you can change it.”
“Amelia,” said her mother, sitting down in an upholstered chair.
“It’s true.”
“Go and supervise the tea,” Aunt Miriam said, gesturing Lucy toward a small sofa. “Sit down, dear. I must apologize for my husband, but he’s away on business. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
“A good thing,” David said, sitting beside Lucy, making them so obviously a couple. “Best to take you all in measured doses.”
“Oh, you,” said his aunt, shining with love for him.
This was a house of ease and love. Could Crag Wyvern ever approach the same?
“I like David’s new rooms up at Crag Wyvern,” Lucy said. “His parlor is a little like this.”
“All that red wood and gold trim? Not to my taste, dear.”
“Yes, the colors are different, but I see similarities.”
Here the wainscoting was a mellow brown and the upper walls covered with white-and-blue wallpaper. But the ambience was much the same, which had probably been his intention, conscious or not.
Amelia returned with a tray of scones, followed by a maidservant bearing the tea tray. As Aunt Miriam brewed and poured, Amelia took charge of the scones.
“Do you eat scones and cream the Devon way in London?” she asked, taking the bottom half of a scone and spreading it with jam. She added a scoop of cream that seemed thick as butter, put the whole thing on a plate, and offered it to Lucy. “Try it.”
Lucy took a bite and hummed her approval. She didn’t think she’d ever tasted such a perfect scone. It was light and with just a trace of warmth to say it wasn’t long from the oven. The dense cream was richly delicious and the tart raspberry jam the perfect complement.
“This is heavenly,” Lucy said.
David’s aunt beamed even more and described the process of making clotted cream. Lucy listened, guessing that everything here except the tea and sugar was produced locally. And the tea had probably been smuggled.
She wasn’t skilled at cookery. At her mother’s insistence she’d learned to manage a household, but she’d rarely actually cooked anything. Any skill could be learned, of course, but she’d rather make money through trade and hire a good cook.
As the chat continued she realized that the manor was still a farm, with fields spread around the area. It had its own dairy, making cheese, butter, and the clotted cream. There was also a brewhouse, and Lady
Kerslake made fruit wines and many herbal medicines.
Lucy asked David, “Where does the Crag get its ale?”
“The tavern in the village, but the earldom owns the tavern, and the one in Dragon’s Cove.”
“And its dairy products?”
“From tenant farms, but in a way they’re our own, too. Nearly everything hereabouts except the manor and its lands belongs to the earldom.”
She nodded, beginning to get an idea of how everything worked and the extent of his responsibilities. She also reflected how different this house was to the one in Lanchester Street. Here she had an aunt and cousin of sorts and they both liked to talk, but Amelia’s chatter made sense and David’s Aunt Miriam seemed to have a warm word about everyone and everything. There had to be some things of which she didn’t approve, but none had arisen so far. If she knew that Lucy had arrived in Church Wyvern in one outfit and entered her house in another, it wasn’t mentioned.
When tea was finished, Lady Kerslake said, “Amelia love, take Lucy up to the room we’ve prepared for her and make sure she has everything she needs.”
Lucy saw in David a reflection of her own reluctance to separate. How odd, when they’d met and separated so often. But they’d been so very together in the past few hours it did feel wrong to be apart. She wished she could leave him with a kiss, but blushed to see how others knew it.
Amelia took her upstairs and to a charming room.
“David’s,” Amelia said, but Lucy had already guessed.
It surely didn’t hold his smell, but something lingered. In addition, he’d created his bedroom at the Crag in imitation of this. Plain white walls with ghosts of paintings, which she was sure were now up there. Simple furniture that might be new here because his old familiar pieces had been moved there. There was even a patchwork quilt on the bed.
Lucy went to this. “Are the pieces significant?”
“Possibly, but that was made by Grandma Kerslake decades ago. Do you have soap? No? I’ll get you some.” She was back quickly with a plainly cut piece of white soap.