by Jo Beverley
Claris stared. “The marquess? He is your friend?”
“I’m staying at Cheynings. Is it so odd?”
She laughed and then clapped her hand over her mouth before it turned wild. When she’d recovered she said, “Only that I once thought of appealing to him for protection against you.”
“He might have obliged, especially as his wife would have urged him to it. Are you acquainted with Genova Ashart?”
“Hardly.”
“You’ll like her. She’s ready to stand by your side against the oppressive male world. In fact, she has already offered to help you prepare for the wedding and your future life.” He rose. “Shall I take you there now?”
Claris swayed away from his outstretched hand. “No! You’re like quicksilver, sir. Allow me a more leaden pace.”
“Tomorrow, then. I can delay no longer before traveling to London to purchase the license. Thus, I point out, I won’t linger at Cheynings to disturb you.”
“A great blessing,” she said tartly. “But I prefer to stay here. There will be much to do. All our possessions . . .”
He glanced around. “Abandon them. I can provide all you need.”
She surged to her feet. “Does it not occur to you, you oaf, that we poor people might have possessions we value? No matter how worthless they seem to you?”
“Oaf?”
Their eyes clashed, but then he smiled.
“My most sincere apologies, Claris. Of course you do. I will arrange for a wagon. Will one be enough?”
It was the first time he’d used her name, and she knew then that she shouldn’t have given him permission.
“A very small one will be enough.”
“As for possessions, surely your grandmother and brothers can cope?”
She supposed they could. Athena and Ellie would keep an eye on the boys, and together they could pack their belongings.
“I am not harrying you to Cheynings for my benefit,” he said, “but for yours. You will be more comfortable with a gradual transition.”
“I don’t know. . . .”
He seized on her weakness. “I’ll come tomorrow morning to take you there.”
Claris looked at the orange on the table. It had been like Persephone’s pomegranate after all, and clearly she’d already eaten too much to escape.
“Very well,” she said. “Tomorrow.”
When he’d gone, she shivered, but she also picked up and ate another piece.
Chapter 10
Perry left before the unpredictable woman changed her mind. He waited until he was out of sight of the cottage before blowing out a relieved breath. He knew how such things could show even from the back. He was tempted to dance a jig.
It was done!
She wouldn’t change her mind and deprive her brothers of advantages. He wasn’t sure how potent the luxuries had been, but she’d not been unmoved by them.
Had she ever tasted an orange before? Or ginger? Or brandied cherries?
How intriguing she was. A shame there’d be scant opportunity to unravel the puzzle. Honor required that even during his thirty days at the manor he avoid her whenever possible.
As he crossed the village green, he paused to consider the rectory that had been her home. It was a modern house with clean, square lines and long windows. It would be light filled and draft free. Ample chimneys implied winter warmth.
On impulse he entered the churchyard through the lych-gate and walked the main graveled path between graves toward the mellow, square-towered church. Clergymen were generally buried close to the church walls, and that’s where he found Henry Mallow’s grave.
Here lies Henry Richard Mallow,
1718–1764 Anno Domini.
Rector of this parish from 1740 to 1764, always mindful of Christian charity and God’s mercy.
“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”
“May I help you, sir?”
A stocky man in shirt, waistcoat, and breeches was coming over. He was probably the sexton, in charge of maintaining this place. Perry didn’t attempt concealment. The whole village would have been observing his comings and goings.
“I’ve been visiting the Mallow family and thought to see their parents’ grave. The rector’s wife is not buried with him?”
“Ah.” The lack of expression was eloquent. “Mistress Mallow died afore, you see, sir. Ten years afore. Buried over here, she is.”
Perry followed the man down a side path and then across grass to a different headstone, considering the fact that a wife dying before her husband wasn’t adequate explanation for separate graves.
Here lies Eleanora Anne Mallow,
1715–1754
wife of Henry Mallow, rector of this parish.
May God have mercy on her soul.
A conventional enough inscription, but Perry sensed a bitter edge to it, as if she might need a great deal of mercy.
Henry Mallow had died suddenly, so he must have made arrangements ahead of time to ensure that he not lie for eternity with his wife. Such deep enmity, and Claris had lived in the midst of it.
He gave the sexton a coin and retraced his steps, wondering how it had warped her. It had nurtured a murderous temper. The thirty days might well be the torture Giles had intended.
He collected his horse and rode away, planning the next week. Acquiring a special license would provide time in London to deal with a number of issues, including a proposed canal that his father opposed. The Earl of Hernescroft was inflamed enough about the way Perriam Manor was left. No need to stoke the fires by neglecting his causes.
* * *
Claris was tempted to hide the basket, that evidence of her weakness. She’d conceal the marriage if she could, renege if she could, but she’d been thoroughly defeated.
When Athena and Ellie returned she said, “It’s done. I’ve agreed to marry him.”
Athena looked at the peel. “Bribed by an orange?”
“And tea, coffee, ginger, and cherries. But mostly by the benefits for the twins.”
“I hope they’ll appreciate it.”
“They’ll appreciate the ponies.” Claris had to sit. “How could I deny them ponies? Oh, God, what have I done?”
“Don’t paint yourself the martyr, girl. Tea, coffee, ginger, and cherries are not to be discounted. Is it good tea, I wonder?”
On the edge of bitter laughter, Claris watched her grandmother unlock the tea box and take the lid off an inner container. She took a pinch and rolled it beneath her nose.
“A very promising blend. Set the kettle to boil, Ellie. We have tea! Claris, reach down the teapot and wash it.”
Claris obeyed while Ellie built up the fire beneath the kettle with equal excitement. They’d missed tea so much? Clearly they had been used to a much better life. No wonder they were cock-a-hoop now.
As she washed her mother’s teapot it brought back memories. It was made of delicate china and ornamented with pretty pink flowers. When her mother died, her father had sold all her possessions—those he hadn’t buried with her. The teapot spout was chipped, however, so he’d thrown it out.
Claris had rescued it, perhaps because her mother’s lessons in the etiquette of tea were among the few good memories of her. They would sit in the rectory parlor with china, silver, and her mother’s box, which contained four canisters of tea. Her mother would blend a certain amount from each and then pour boiling water into the pot to warm it.
A lady must know the art of it, and you are a lady, Claris.
She’d said the same about posture, curtsying, and diction. Any use of local dialect, any weakness of accent, had led to the sting of the birch. Even as a child, Claris had puzzled over it, for her mother had never claimed to be highborn. Now she knew why—her mother had been preparing for the day when Giles Perriam surrendered and married his victim’s niece.
She dried the pot and put it on the table. “We have no teacups.”
Athena went upstairs and soon returned with a wooden bo
x. She opened it to reveal a tea service. Cups, saucers, a milk jug and sugar dish, along with silver spoons. More evidence of her former life. Athena had arrived with two large trunks. What else did they contain?
As Athena laid out the china, Ellie made tea—just as a lady should, even in a cottage kitchen with boiling water from a kettle black from the open fire.
Claris sat down. “You once enjoyed tea whenever you wished, didn’t you?”
“I’ve been accustomed to many things, good and bad.” Athena poured milk into the jug. “I wish the same for you.”
“Even the bad? I believe I’ve had my share of that.”
“Then you’re entitled to much good. This marriage will be of importance to the boys, but you won’t suffer from it.”
“No? Already he’s ordering me about. I’m to move to Lord Ashart’s house tomorrow, and be married from there within the week!”
Even Athena was startled. “Why there?”
“Because the marquess is Perriam’s friend and host. I never had a chance, did I? The marchioness, would you believe, is to advise me about my new station and perhaps even improve my wardrobe. I’m to be pitchforked into the aristocracy!”
“Excellent. I judged Perriam to be a sharp-witted man.”
“Sharp enough to cut my throat.”
“Claris, if you don’t want to remove to Cheynings, refuse. Stay here and marry in the church.”
Claris scowled, but she couldn’t deny the truth. “I refused that. I won’t go through this performance in front of the village.”
“Tea,” Ellie said, putting the pot on the table and sitting down.
Athena poured the golden liquid into the cups. She put one in front of Claris. “Drink. It will revive and fortify, and we have much to do.”
Claris added sugar and milk, stirred, and then cautiously sipped. It was as delicious as she remembered. If it revived and fortified, she’d indulge in a great deal of it.
“You will take my small trunk to Cheynings,” Athena said. Yatta meowed. “No, you demanding creature.”
Ellie poured milk into her saucer with a little tea, then put it on the floor. The cat set to enjoying it.
Athena sniffed. “You’re too softhearted.”
“Best someone be,” Ellie said with a smile.
“I have Father’s trunk,” Claris said.
“Black and old,” Athena said. “You must arrive with as much dignity as possible.”
“Pretend to be a fine lady? With my simple clothing and well-worn shoes?”
“Being a lady is a matter of behavior as much as possessions. There are poor duchesses. Apart from a certain bounce in your walk, you have adequate deportment. Your manners and speech are tolerable. If you act as if you have every right to be there, you’ll get by.”
While bouncing and behaving almost as she should. Perhaps running the gauntlet of Old Barford might be preferable. But then there’d be Perriam Manor. Claris drank more tea.
“You are wise to consider your clothing,” Athena said. “Ellie will inspect the garments you have and see what can be done to improve them.”
“You said possessions didn’t matter.”
Athena waved that away. “Improvement is improvement. Ellie is skilled in such things.”
“Ellie does too much work already.”
Ellie smiled. “I like to keep busy, dearie, and I do enjoy needlework and fashion.”
Claris wanted to grip her spinning head. Ellie and fashion didn’t go together at all!
Yet Ellie wouldn’t lie, and she too would benefit from this marriage. She might be the most deserving of them all. It would be satisfying to rescue Ellie from scullion work and enable her to stitch away to her heart’s content.
“Jewelry,” Athena said, standing up. “Alas, I have only trinkets, but some may suit you. Fine handkerchiefs. I will seek other items as I empty the small trunk.”
Claris could only say, “Thank you.”
Athena went upstairs and Ellie stood too. “That was a lovely cup of tea, dearie. Now, let’s have a look at your clothes and see what we can do.”
Claris followed, fighting an urge to refuse all improvements and additions because no one had asked her opinion or permission. The whole world seemed set on treating her like a puppet.
When it came to it, however, she couldn’t resist Ellie’s suggestions and enthusiasm. Ellie had all kinds of ribbon and braid in her trunk, and Athena’s produced some lace and silk flowers as well as trinkets and handkerchiefs.
By the time the twins returned home that afternoon, a plain green gown had been trimmed with braid, and Claris’s best black hat boasted spring flowers. She’d been put to work and was making love knots from blue ribbon when the boys rushed in.
They stopped and then approached the open basket.
“Oranges!” they exclaimed in unison.
They remembered.
“May we have one?” Peter asked.
They’d have their supper soon, but she gave permission.
They were clumsy with the peel but separated the segments carefully and divided them equally. They took a bite in unison and hummed together in pleasure.
Claris smiled, perhaps truly for the first time that day.
She was doing the right thing.
But then Peter frowned. “Where does all this come from?”
Despite all her efforts, they hadn’t escaped the effects of life at the rectory. Beneath good cheer, they always worried about the next blow.
“The basket is a gift from a gentleman called Perriam,” she said. “In a way, it’s a betrothal gift. I’m to marry him.”
“Who is he?” Peter demanded.
Lord above, he was attempting to protect her. She was touched, but she wouldn’t allow it. “He’s a younger son of the Earl of Hernescroft. He’s visited here these past few days.”
“But—”
“It is not for you to question my choice.”
“But—”
“No, Peter. It does mean that we’ll shortly move to Perriam Manor in Berkshire. I’m assured it will provide all necessities and many luxuries.”
“What about our lessons?” Tom asked.
That hadn’t been discussed, but Perriam had said she would have everything she wanted. “You’ll have a tutor until you’re ready for school, and then go to Eton College, which isn’t far away.”
“I like Reverend Johnson,” Tom said. “He’s kind.”
Poor Tom.
“You’ll like your new tutor,” Claris promised, but she knew she’d not be able to control his experience at school. She saw that they both were worried, so she brought out the big guns. “Mr. Perriam has said you may have ponies if you wish.”
It truly was as if stars lit in their eyes, but then Peter set his face. “Do you want to marry him, Claris? Truly? We do well enough here.”
He was such a good boy. “Yes, love, I truly do. And no, we don’t do well enough here. It’s a scrambling existence at best, and miserable in winter.”
They still looked uncertain, and some of their orange was still uneaten.
“Even if you wish to stay here, I confess to selfishly wanting a more comfortable life. I can’t have that if you won’t come with me. You will, won’t you?”
It was shameless manipulation, but it worked. Their tension eased and they looked at each other.
“Ponies . . . ,” Peter said.
“Ponies!” Tom echoed.
They jiggled for a moment and then ran outside, orange segments forgotten, their excitement too great to be confined within walls. She heard them running around the garden shouting, “Ponies! Ponies! Ponies!”
Claris fell to laughter and tears.
“I forget that they must be like your children,” Athena said. “They were only babes when their mother died.”
“There was a nursemaid.”
“Could a nursemaid protect them from their father’s carelessness? Could one give them a mother’s love?”
“That’s
all in the past.” Clarissa rose and grasped one of the bottles by the neck. “Let’s open some wine to toast to my betrothal.”
“No!” both women cried in unison.
“Why not?”
“After it’s been shaken around?” Athena rescued it. “It must stand quietly for days to do it justice.”
“Then what purpose to it as a gift?”
“A promise,” Athena said.
“A pity he didn’t think cognac would tempt you.” Ellie looked in the basket to be sure. “Ah well, there’s still a meal to do, and we’ve frittered the day away on furbelows.”
Ellie set to work, Athena went off to her stillroom, and Claris took her refurbished clothing upstairs, out of harm’s way. When she came back down, she packed Perriam’s bribes away in the basket. Soon the room looked as if nothing had happened, as if her life had not been shattered and remade in a whole new pattern.
The basket told the true story, however.
She might end up paying a high price for tea, ginger, and brandied cherries, but looking out at the boys, still so excited, she knew she’d pay anything for ponies.
Chapter 11
Claris endured a poor night’s sleep and woke early with a headache. She went downstairs to look at the basket, to prove that she hadn’t imagined everything.
A part of her wished she had, that her life was still undisturbed, but most of her feared to find it was a dream. That would be like glimpsing a beautiful garden and then having the door to it slammed shut, locking her out forever.
A knock at the door startled her. It was far too early!
She found a groom there, with a letter. “From Mr. Perriam, ma’am.”
She turned away to break the seal, concealing her shaking hands. Had he already regretted their agreement and written to take back his offer? No, the letter was simply a plan for the day. He would come at eleven by carriage to collect her. There would be ample space for any trunks and bandboxes.
How many did he think she had?
Once he had escorted her to Cheynings, he would set out for London to obtain the necessary license. Relieving her of his presence, she understood.