Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02]

by Dangerous Angels

  “Dear me, ma’am, I’d never expect it of her, now she’s a lady’s maid. No need to fret yourself, however. I’ve a niece who will be happy to help with the housework and look after her young ladyship, as well, until you find someone more suitable.”

  “Excellent. Now, when you have shown me my bedchamber, perhaps you will take Lady Letitia to see hers. Then you can make a list of the servants as we shall require. We shan’t need many, for we do not mean to entertain for some time yet.”

  “Nor no one won’t expect it, my lady,” Aggie agreed with an uncharacteristic twinkle. “Not for at least a month, though I’ll warrant you’ll have bride visits aplenty once word gets round that you’ve married. Now, Lady Letitia, you come along with me, and after we look at your bedchamber, you shall come down to my kitchen, where I’ve left some gingerbread a-baking. I’ll warrant you and that bright-eyed little critter both have a liking for gingerbread.”

  “Oh, yes, please,” Letty said. “We’ve discovered a fondness for saffron buns, too, and we both like fruit. But, please, call me Miss Letty and not Lady Letitia. I’m glad you are not afraid of Jeremiah.” As the door closed behind them, she was heard to add cheerfully, “He’s quite tame, you know. He will even shake hands if you like.”

  Sir Antony said, “That relationship promises to prosper.”

  “It does.” The question she had been burning to ask him hovered on the tip of her tongue, but awareness that she was alone with him in his bedchamber held it in check. Determined not to reveal her unease, she said lightly, “Aggie neglected to show me my bedchamber.”

  “I daresay it is the next room to this,” he said, striding to the nearest door and thrusting it open. “No, that’s my dressing room. It must be the other one, yonder.” Crossing the room, he opened the second door and said with satisfaction, “Here we are, and as fine a view of the sea as can be had from mine. I could grow fond of this house.”

  “Wait till you experience it in a storm,” Charley said. “I spent a night here once in a terrifying thunderstorm. I’ll never forget it.”

  “Are you afraid of storms? The house seems quite solidly built.”

  “I suppose it is,” she agreed, but she was not thinking of the weather. “Look here, sir, I simply cannot sleep in the room adjoining yours. I’ll tell Aggie to prepare another one for me.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said gently.

  “Don’t be absurd. There must be a dozen other bedchambers in this house.”

  “None of which is the mistress’s chamber, however.”

  “What difference can that make? No one else need know.” Even as the words crossed her lips, however, she knew word would soon spread, not just through the household but beyond, especially since they would be hiring more servants.

  He was watching her, and he said now, “We must maintain the pretense of a normal marriage, or there is no point to this exercise. All Cornwall would soon be gossiping about us. In order for me to continue to act as Jean Matois when necessary and still be accepted as Sir Antony, there must not be any stirring of local curiosity. I must be accepted as what I appear to be.”

  “Look here, sir,” she said bluntly, “is our marriage even legal?”

  “As legal as legal can be.”

  “But how can that be? Rockland put what he assumed were your proper names and titles, but since you are cutting a sham—”

  “You were married to Sir Antony Foxearth, angel. That is the name by which I have been known for years to folks here in England, and is as legal a name as any other I might possess. As for the title, Wellington himself arranged for my baronetcy.”

  “Rockland did not put Tarrant, then?”

  With a crooked smile, Sir Antony said, “He did not.”

  “Then our marriage is legal.”

  “It is. You are Lady Foxearth.”

  She smiled weakly. “Aggie must have seen how taken aback I was to hear myself called so.”

  “I daresay she will put it down to nerves and the fact that you have but recently come by the title.”

  Charley glanced through the open door at the bedchamber that would be hers. She suddenly felt nervous, not just of Sir Antony but of the whole unfamiliar situation in which she found herself.

  He seemed to know what she was thinking, for he said quietly, “Tonight will be no different from last night or the night before or the night before that. I will ask no more than that you play your part, mon ange. If it will make you feel more secure, there is a key in that lock. You may keep the door locked.”

  She relaxed, realizing she had no fear that he might try to ravish her. With a half-smile of apology, she said, “I’ll keep the key, but I won’t lock it without cause, sir. Only think what tales the servants will tell if they find that door locked.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I promise, you have nothing to fear from me.”

  She was not so sure. Something about him made her unusually uncertain of herself. Never had she even been tempted to treat him as cavalierly as she treated Rockland. Whenever Rockland displeased or irritated her, she said so at once, never hesitating to speak her mind to him. Indeed, it had been that very factor that had led her to think she might be able to endure marriage to him.

  She had thought she felt completely at ease with Rockland, but she knew now that that was not true. She had merely convinced herself that he would not attempt to rule her. He never had tried such a thing, but had he dared, she would have found it easy to oppose him. The thought of setting herself in opposition to Sir Antony stirred a tingling in her midsection. She did not think that would be so easy. Several days later, in the sunny breakfast parlor, when she informed him that she had decided to ride to Lostwithiel that day, she discovered that her assessment of him was correct.

  Reaching for the cream pot without so much as glancing at her, he said, “No.”

  They sat with Letty at a round table in a large, semicircular bay that provided a near panoramic view of the Channel. Except for a few wispy clouds, the sky was clear. The tide was in, and where the sea rolled heavily against the rocks, spray and white foam shot high in the air. The thick walls of Seacourt House muted the rhythmic sound, but they provided a musical background to life at the house, which Charley generally found soothing. Now, however, she was anything but calm. She stared at Sir Antony, now engaged in pouring rich Cornish cream over his oatmeal.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “The word is clear enough, I think. Letty,” he added, “I would prefer that you not allow Jeremiah to scatter toast crumbs all over the table.”

  Reminded of Letty’s presence, Charley struggled to control her temper, saying with forced calm, “If you have finished your breakfast, darling, why don’t you take Jeremiah outside? He can throw his crumbs to the ducks in the horse pond.”

  “Are we not going riding at all then?” Letty asked, getting up and settling the monkey on her shoulder. Jeremiah clutched his toast tightly in his tiny hands.

  “We’ll see,” Charley said, meeting Sir Antony’s gaze with a challenging look.

  “’Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream,’” he murmured.

  Charley said no more until Letty had gone away with Jeremiah, and then she said stiffly, “I did not recognize that one, I’m afraid.”

  “Othello.” He watched her, his oatmeal untouched. It was the first time since shortly after their arrival that she had found herself completely alone with him. She and Aggie had been busy setting the house in order, and she knew Sir Antony and Sam Corlan had given similar attention to the stables and surrounding estate. Sir Antony clearly wanted the place to come alive. He had even sent for Teddy and Jeb, and several of her horses from Tuscombe Park.

  Sir Antony had not forgotten his mission. He had disappeared without a word several times, and once, she was certain, he had been away all night. She had tried to winkle information out of Hodson, but although the man was pleasant and possessed an air of quiet dignity, he proved to be as close as an oyster w
ith facts about his master or his master’s activities. Being left to her own devices, she saw now, he had lulled her into a false sense of independence, but she would allow no one to dictate her movements.

  When he said no more, merely watching her in silence while he stirred a sugar lump into his coffee, she felt her temper rise. She had almost forgotten how easily, of late, she could be stirred to fury, but suddenly she found herself snapping, “You can’t mean to keep me a prisoner in this house!”

  “What makes you think I have any such intention?”

  “If you think you can keep me from riding, you are very much mistaken, sir. I ride every morning that the weather permits. I have done since we came here.”

  “Not to Lostwithiel,” he said flatly. “I have no objection to your riding, provided that you take your groom along if you go beyond sight of the house, and provided that both you and he are armed.”

  “But I can take care of myself,” she cried, aware that she was losing control but unable to stop herself. “I won’t beg your permission when I want to ride, any more than I asked for Alfred’s. Nor will I submit my destination for your approval!”

  “Don’t raise your voice to me. I dislike it very much.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!”

  “Now, look—”

  “You look!” She leaned across the table, glaring at him. “I won’t be told where I can go, and I won’t change my habits just to suit your fusty notions of propriety or safety. I’ve done as I pleased since I was a child, I’ll have you know.”

  “We will leave your childhood out of this discussion,” he said. “Things are a little different now.”

  “Because I’ve got a husband, I suppose,” she said sarcastically.

  “That is certainly a point.”

  “Good mercy, you do fancy yourself to be some sort of Petruchio,” she snapped. “Well, I’m no Kate for your taming, sir, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

  “Don’t be a fool. Leave us,” he added sharply when the new footman looked into the room to see if they required anything more. “I’ll ring when I want you.”

  “Yes, sir,” the lad said, effacing himself.

  Sir Antony said, “It would perhaps be wise to make certain we are alone before we cross verbal swords, mon ange.”

  “Don’t call me that.” Aware that she sounded like a sullen child, she straightened, shooting him a rueful look.

  He smiled. “I did not mean to infuriate you, you know. Nor do I have less faith than I had before in your ability to look out for yourself or Letty. However—”

  “I knew there would be a however. There is always a however.”

  “Not always. I own, I am perhaps more protective of a wife than I was of a woman I thought was answerable to others, but we must not forget the existence of my unattractive comrades and their uncertainty about the inhabitants of Tuscombe Park.”

  “What uncertainty?”

  “You will recall that your grandfather was not friendly to the free traders. St. Merryn’s Bay was more likely to prove a trap for the unwary than a haven of refuge.”

  “But what has that to do with my riding to Lostwithiel?”

  “Only that the coastal gang has yet to take their measure of the new heir.”

  “Good mercy, they don’t even know who he is.”

  “Just so, but they do know you. Moreover, they know that you are bound to remain of importance, no matter who inherits the estate. I don’t want to see you taken hostage to force Alfred’s hand, or mine.”

  “No one would dare try to take me hostage,” she retorted. “If they did, they would soon learn their error.”

  “Nevertheless—”

  “There is no nevertheless, and there will be no howevers, either. I may have agreed to remain married to you, but I did not agree to let you order my life.”

  “In actual point of fact—”

  “Don’t quibble!” She stood up, shaking out the train of her habit. “I promised Wenna and Cubert Breton more than a sennight ago that I would make certain their Jenifry is well treated at Angelique’s. I mean to go today, because as far as I can tell, no one who cares about Jenifry has seen her since Letty and I did a month ago. I must keep my word. Even you can see that.”

  “We’ll send someone to inquire about Jenifry,” Sir Antony said patiently. “But until I can better measure the intentions of Jean Matois’s compatriots, you will not ride so far from this house, let alone into the very den of Michael Peryllys.”

  She stepped nearer, glaring at him. “I will ride where I choose.”

  “Heaven and earth,” he muttered, pushing back his chair and throwing his serviette onto the table, “you’ll do as I say for once, and without this infernal debate and cross-talk. How Will Shakespeare could ever have called women frail—”

  “A pox on Shakespeare,” Charley snapped. Refusing to let the unexpected change in his demeanor make her retreat, she went on angrily, “The only thing he wrote worth quoting is ‘What a piece of work is a man!’ Unfortunately, he followed that line with a lot of ridiculous claptrap. And don’t you dare laugh at me,” she cried.

  When he only leaned back in his chair and laughed harder, she caught up his bowl of oatmeal in a fit of pure rage and dumped the contents over his head.

  A deadly silence fell. Aghast at what she had done, she dropped the empty bowl on the table, turned on her heel, and fled. Glancing back, more than half expecting him to pursue her, she felt strangely disappointed to see that he had not moved.

  As she opened the door, he said in carefully measured tones, “‘What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form, in moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god!’” More furious than ever, she slammed the door shut behind her.

  Hurrying to the stables, she wondered at her temerity and wondered even more at his apparently mild reaction. It occurred to her then that he might have remained seated, covered in dripping oatmeal and cream, spouting Shakespearean idiocy at her, because he had already given orders in the stables that she was not to ride without his permission. If he had done such a thing, she knew the stablemen would obey him.

  Taking a high hand, she ordered Teddy to bring Shadow Dancer out at once, and when he did so without hesitation, she paused only long enough to be certain her pistol was in its holster before accepting a leg up. Seeing that the groom had saddled a horse for himself, she said, “Are you armed, Teddy? Sir Antony is concerned about certain fractious elements in the district.”

  “As well he should be, Miss Charley—that is, my lady. Some folks be getting too big fer their breeches.” He swung into the saddle.

  With a quick glance at the house, Charley spurred Dancer to a gallop. Not until they reached the point where the headland road met the cliff path and the main road to Lostwithiel did she slow to let Teddy catch up.

  “That was wonderful,” she said when he drew alongside. “What a glorious day!”

  “It is, that,” he agreed, looking at the clear sky. The air was crisp and a light breeze stirred the trees and the long grass that flanked the roadway.

  She followed the main road only until it began to curve east toward Duloe, then left it to ride cross-country, intending to meet it again before Lostwithiel. They passed a wash tin mine, finished and filled up, and several tenants’ cottages, before she heard a shout from behind and, turning in her saddle, saw Letty galloping toward them with Jeb in pursuit. Waiting for the child to catch up, Charley felt a twinge of conscience.

  She did not doubt that Letty had left without permission, and she could not doubt, either, that the child had simply followed her example. Remembering her suggestion that Letty and Jeremiah feed the ducks in the horse pond, she wondered why she had not seen the child in the stable yard.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Letty shouted when she was within earshot. She was nearly breathless, but when she had closed the gap, she managed to add, “Jeremiah began thr
owing pebbles at the ducks, instead of toast crumbs, so I took him back inside. When I returned to the yard, they said you had gone. Why didn’t you send for me?”

  A reasonable question, Charley thought. She smiled ruefully but said only, “Ride a little ahead with me, Letty darling.” To the grooms, she said, “Keep a sharp lookout, both of you. Are you armed, Jeb?”

  “I am,” he said dourly.

  She nodded and urged Dancer to a canter. When she and Letty had put enough distance between themselves and the grooms to be certain she would not be overheard, Charley slowed Dancer again. Aware that Letty had been watching her with open curiosity, she said bluntly, “You had better know straightaway that after you left us I quarreled with Sir Antony.”

  “I was afraid you might.”

  “You were, were you?”

  Letty nodded. “I have observed that you do not like being told what to do. Sir Antony has not given you orders before, so when he did, I expected ructions. I daresay he did, too, so he must have strongly opposed our riding to Lostwithiel.”

  “If you knew that, why did you follow me?”

  Letty shrugged. “I knew you would not mind, and I want to see Jenifry again.”

  The twinge of conscience this time was stronger than before. A vision of Letty’s papa leapt unbidden to Charley’s mind, and she found herself giving thanks that the Channel and a good bit of France lay between her and Gideon Deverill. The thought of having to face him as well as Sir Antony sent an icy shiver up her spine. Feeling that she ought to say something stern to the child, she found herself at a loss. Letty knew perfectly well that Sir Antony had forbidden them to go, but to scold the child for doing what she had done herself would be an act of hypocrisy, if not downright lunacy.

  In a less than confident tone, she said, “I feel obliged to keep my word to Wenna and Cubert, Letty, but I daresay I should compel you to obey Sir Antony’s orders.”

  “He did not give me any orders,” Letty said cheerfully.

  The words did nothing to ease Charley’s conscience, but she did not feel up to arguing. Determined to see Jenifry, she ignored the uncomfortable sensation of prickling guilt, and fixed her thoughts on the task ahead.