by Laura Landon
Josie met his gaze. “Let’s just say I’m much too realistic to believe such flattery.”
“Or perhaps you have just not heard a compliment often enough to believe its accuracy.”
She lifted her brows, hoping he would realize his accolades didn’t affect her. “Would you care for a glass of wine? The vintage was Lord Clythebrook’s favorite.”
He smiled a smile so natural and at ease she wondered how he managed, then he reached out to take the glass.
Their fingers touched. A spark ignited her flesh that stunned her and held her. She felt her cheeks warm and looked again at his fingers wrapped around the glass. How could just a touch cause such a reaction? Lady Clythebrook’s voice caught her attention.
“Josephine, come. We must introduce Lord Rainforth to our guests.”
Josie nodded, cast a glance at the intimidating gathering, then looked up. The expression on Rainforth’s face was unreadable, an impenetrable mask hiding any hint as to what he might really be feeling.
The room was deathly quiet, the lack of a smile on anyone’s face a grim indication of the reception the marquess was about to receive.
Had he known it would be this way? Had he gone through this before? So often he was immune to people’s reaction? His voice did not give away what he might be feeling.
“Yes, Lady Clythebrook. I’ve been quite anxious to meet the good people of Clytheborough.”
Josie stepped to the side as he held out his arm for Lady Clythebrook to take, then followed as the countess led him to the far side of the room where Lady Lindville stood with her son and Vicar Chadwick.
“Baroness Lindville. Baron Lindville. Vicar Chadwick. May I present the Marquess of Rainforth?”
“Yes, we’ve met,” Lady Lindville said in a tight voice that held no warmth.
“Wonderful,” Lady Clythebrook responded as if she hadn’t noticed the strain.
The marquess didn’t reach out to take Lady Lindville’s hand as he might have done, perhaps to avoid the embarrassment of her refusal to offer it. Instead, he returned the greeting with a polite bow to the baroness and a formal nod to both Baron Lindville and Vicar Chadwick.
The moment was uncomfortable enough but would have been worse if Lady Clythebrook had waited for Lady Lindville or her son to return the greeting. But she didn’t. Nor did she pause long enough to give Lady Lindville or her son the opportunity for a direct cut, but proceeded into a conversation about how pleased she was that the weather had cooperated and that even though the night was chilly, it was clear and the moon full, which made it so much brighter to see.
Both Baron Lindville and the vicar had no choice but to agree, which at least gave the impression of cordiality. Lady Lindville, however, took the first opportunity to separate herself from their small group and join the Pottsworth sisters, who were standing nearby, paying close attention to every word spoken.
Although there hadn’t been any open hostility in the meeting, the dye was cast the minute Baroness Lindville turned her back on the Marquess of Rainforth.
Taking their cue from the wealthiest and most influential landowners in the area, the other guests followed suite. Their actions were not perhaps as blatant, and some even carried on an enjoyable conversation with Lady Clythebrook and Josie, but it was impossible to miss the cold reception the Marquess of Rainforth received.
Josie had known this was a possibility but had prayed it wouldn’t be a reality. The uncomfortable tension that filled the room was so thick she could cut it with a knife. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment, yet the marquess acted as if nothing were amiss. As they made their way across the room, he even seemed eager to meet the next guest, knowing his reception would not be friendlier.
A knot formed just inside Josie’s ribcage and gnawed uncomfortably. She looked about, searching for a way to undo what was happening, but unable to find the answer. After nearly a quarter hour of stilted conversations and unfriendly encounters, Josie felt her nerves stretched to the breaking point. How did he do it? She felt as if she couldn’t endure the scrutiny another second and was never so glad of anything as when dinner was announced and they were able to escape the confines of the drawing room. At least at the table she could pretend to be enjoying her food.
The meal, however, didn’t turn out to be the respite she’d hoped for. Lady Lindville and her son made sure of that.
“Have you organized the spring drive yet, Miss Foley?” Lady Lindville asked, intentionally interrupting the question Lady Clythebrook had just asked the marquess. The cut was obvious.
Josie cast the marquess an apologetic look and felt a deeper rawness when he answered her with a smile. He held her gaze for a brief second then she turned her attention back to Lady Lindville’s question.
“No, we haven’t started the drive yet,” Josie answered, lifting her spoon out of the soup she’d barely touched and placing it on the table.
“Father always said the spring drive was the event he anticipated most during the year, as well as the one he was the most relieved to see come to an end,” Miss Eustacia Pottsworth added, looking at her sister for confirmation. The two nodded in unison.
“Have no fear, Miss Evangeline. Both you and Miss Eustacia will be the first I call upon for help.”
Demure smiles brightened both women’s faces and warm flushes darkened their cheeks. Conversation flowed smoothly through the various courses of the meal, from the fish, to the roast duckling, then the lightly creamed vegetables and candied fruit. It wasn’t until the footman served the dessert Mrs. Downey had specially prepared for the dinner party that Lady Lindville chose to make her move.
“Squire Pearsons,” Lady Lindville said, speaking at the precise moment when there was a lull in the conversation. “I wanted to ask after your sister. The death of a child is indeed tragic, but to lose your only son. Well, I cannot imagine her bereavement.”
Josie’s heart skipped a beat. She knew Lady Lindville’s intent with this line of conversation. So did Lady Clythebrook and everyone else at the table. Only the Marquess of Rainforth was oblivious. He cut into the thick piece of Mrs. Downey’s layered cake and put it in his mouth with only a cursory glance in the speaker’s direction.
Pearsons cleared his throat. “It is indeed difficult for her, even after this length of time.”
Josie looked to Lady Clythebrook for help but realized the older lady had already anticipated this turn and intended to let it take its course. Josie couldn’t. She looked around, frantic to find something that might distract. The only thing in reach was a plate of candied fruit. She held it out to Vicar Chadwick. “Would you care for another—”
Lady Lindville cut off her attempt.
“I can’t imagine the grief of every mother who lost a son during the war. Especially when their loved one was cut down in the prime of life.”
The eerie silence seemed suffocating and Josie noticed a slight pause in the marquess’s movements. He knew.
“All those hundreds of precious lives so needlessly sacrificed because of one man’s—” She paused for effect. “Well…”
Lady Lindville’s sentence went unfinished, but there was no need. Her words had been intentional and malicious.
The Marquess of Rainforth barely reacted. But he’d heard. And he understood.
He took a deep breath, then slowly placed his fork down beside his plate and lifted his head. His features seemed no different, as if he’d gone through situations similar to this so often he was adept at controlling his reaction. With deliberate slowness he placed his linen napkin on the table and turned to face Squire Pearsons.
“Your sister lost a son in the war, sir?” he said, his voice thick. The look in his eyes dark with an emotion too intense for her to read.
“Yes, during the siege of Sebastopol.”
“You have my most heartfelt sympathies.”
The room was deathly silent.
Everyone waited for a reaction. Lady Lindville had laid her trap well. Her intent had bee
n to kill, not just wound. If the squire refused to accept Rainforth’s apology, he would make plain how he and the other guests felt about Rainforth, regardless of the improvements the marquess intended to make. And Rainforth would have to give up his plan. Which was what Josie had been hoping for. The means to keep him away from the caves.
Oh, but not like this. Not to have Rainforth brought to his knees so cruelly. Not if it meant destroying his pride.
Not like this.
She waited, praying the final blow wouldn’t come.
Jaded Moon
by Laura Landon
Ransomed Jewels Series Book Two
CHAPTER 9
Squire Pearsons sat unmoving in his chair, his intelligent gaze locked with the marquess’s. Josie fought the painful gnawing that ate away at her. A voice inside her wanted to cry out that Rainforth wasn’t responsible for what his father had done, but she knew the marquess would resent her intrusion. So she sat as immobile as the other guests, locked in the drama unfolding around her without being able to do anything to stop it.
She swiped her damp palms against the linen napkin in her lap while the mantel clock ticked away one uncomfortable second after another. Josie knew Squire Pearsons was weighing the earnestness of Rainforth’s words and prayed he read them as she did—filled with genuine sincerity.
The squire finally shifted his round bulk in the chair and gave a short nod, his decision made.
“Thank you, my lord. I will extend your condolences to my sister. They will mean a great deal to her.”
There was another uncomfortable moment of silence, followed by a variety of inane movements. The Pottsworth sisters both meticulously straightened their napkins in their laps. Several of the guests developed a sudden thirst and lifted their wine or water glasses to their mouths. And some just sat, intently studying the food that remained uneaten on their plates.
Only Lady Lindville reacted in an expected manner, with hostility and anger. The scorching glare she sent in Rainforth’s direction frightened Josie. Her son didn’t look at anyone, but gave an irate wave of his hand as he motioned for the footman to refill his wine glass. He drank it in record time then motioned for the footman to fill it again.
Cornelius Sharpe made the next conciliatory attempt by directing his question at the Marquess of Rainforth.
“Lady Clythebrook has informed us that you have an idea to propose she believes will benefit everyone in the area.
Cornelius Sharpe owned several shops in Clytheborough and was always interested in anything that would affect what the people had to spend.
“Yes. With Lady Clythebrook’s involvement, I intend to increase the number of cattle on Clythebrook Estate and St. Stephen’s by several hundred head.”
A collective gasp echoed in the room, every eye now focused on the man speaking.
Mr. Sharpe was the first to recover. “Several hundred?”
“Yes, for a start.”
“But how can you manage such a large number?”
“Clythebrook Estate is lush with grazing land and St. Stephen’s has an abundant underground water supply at its disposal. By utilizing both estates, we will be more than able to raise a substantial herd.”
“What part of the estates do you intend to utilize?” Vicar Chadwick asked, clearly interested.
“The strip of land bordering St. Stephen’s eastern edge and Clythebrook’s western.”
“The land closest to the sea? Above the caves?”
“Yes. It’s not ideal for anything else. And other than the orphanage located inland from the cove, the rest of the land is not being used at present to its full potential.”
Squire Pearsons’s eyes brightened. “Oh, my. What a remarkable idea.”
Mr. Sharpe leaned forward, his attention focused on Rainforth. “And do you anticipate an influx of workers?”
“I do, Mr. Sharpe. First, we’ll take advantage of what local manpower is available. Then, we’ll have to bring in extra workers to fill our needs. It will, of course, mean a substantial increase in goods required to provide for the added tenants and their families but I’ve been assured you are capable of making such goods available.”
He beamed. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
“Lady Clythebrook, surely you don’t intend to go along with this foolhardy proposition?”
There was an accusatory tone to Lady Lindville’s voice and everyone turned to Lady Clythebrook, the person on the receiving end of Lady Lindville’s glaring look.
“I don’t consider it foolhardy at all. Quite the opposite. And Lord Rainforth assures me the profits from such a venture will provide everyone in the area with added income. This will not only benefit the tenants on both estates, but the children in the orphanage and every shop in Clytheborough. How can I not at least consider such an endeavor?”
Josie couldn’t remain quiet any longer. “Can you guarantee such a profit, Lord Rainforth?”
He smiled. “I can. Not immediately, of course. I have already explained that it will take at least a year before the first cattle will be ready to take to market.”
“How do you intend to get the cattle to market?” Squire Pearsons asked, his interest as evident as everyone else’s.
“By rail. And the nearest stop is Lythesborough. Which means we will have to cross Pearsons Grange.”
Squire Pearsons sat straighter and the marquess focused his steel-gray gaze down the table to where the squire sat across from her.
“I’m hoping to convince you of the advantages to this venture so you will want to become involved.”
Pearsons was engrossed in every word. “As you can tell, I’m already interested. I would, however, want to discuss everything in greater detail.”
Josie couldn’t keep her temper from rising. Everything was slipping away before her very eyes and if she didn’t stop it now, she’d lose control of the only means she had to provide for the children.
“Even though we’d all like to believe your idea will be lucrative,” she said, trying to keep her voice soft and steady, “surely you have to admit there’s a possibility what you’re proposing will not be profitable?”
The corners of his mouth lifted into a heart-stopping smile. “I refuse to admit any such thing, Miss Foley. Even if the market remains stable, there will still be a profit. The only point I am willing to concede is that the profit will not be immediate. It will take at least a year before the first cattle are ready to go to market.”
“And in the meantime?”
He frowned. “In the meantime you will go on as you always have.”
But we won’t be able to!
She wanted to scream at him. His plan would ruin everything. How could they risk continuing their smuggling operation with scores of workers watching from above? And without the goods that were smuggled in every quarter, the children would be forced to go without.
She remembered the days before Geoffrey Lindville had come to her with his plan. Days when there was not enough to feed the children and they went to bed hungry. Or when winter came and there were not enough coats, and even the donation drive the Misses Pottsworths were so proud of running didn’t bring in nearly what the children needed. Now, Rainforth’s plan would ruin everything.
She felt her anger mounting from deep inside her. She couldn’t allow him to take away the little control she had over what came into the orphanage without a fight. Baron Lindville hadn’t made her a part of the smuggling operation because he cared about the children, but because he needed access to the tunnels that ran beneath the orphanage. He’d had no choice but to include her. Without her help he had no way to bring the goods inland.
She opened her mouth to voice another objection but didn’t have an opportunity to get the words out. Everyone was too interested in the details of his plan to interrupt.
“Have you anyone in mind to oversee such a project?” Squire Pearsons asked, even more excited than before.
“Yes, the man I’ve chosen is—”
“Lord Rainforth,” Lady Clythebrook interrupted, stopping the conversation. “Perhaps you and the other gentlemen would like to retire to the study to further discuss this venture over a glass of port, and we ladies can talk of more pleasant things than cattle and grazing.”
The men heartily agreed and slid back their chairs and left the room, still discussing the economic possibilities Lord Rainforth’s venture would provide.
Josie sat rigid in her chair while the footman poured coffee and set around small plates of chocolates. The same flush of excitement she’d noticed in Lady Clythebrook’s cheeks earlier was back. So was the gleam in her eyes.
“Constance,” Lady Lindville said, addressing Lady Clythebrook by her given name. “How could you!”
Lady Clythebrook nodded to Banks, then waited until all the servants had quit the room. “How could I what, Lavinia?”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know exactly what I’m speaking of. Him. How could you align yourself with a traitor?”
Everyone at the table found a spot in their laps on which to focus. There was a momentary silence before Lady Clythebrook answered. “If you are referring to the Marquess of Rainforth, then you had best be very careful what you imply. The marquess is not now, nor has he ever been accused of being a traitor. There was some evidence that his father, the late marquess, committed the grievous crime of betraying his country, but the young man seated at my table tonight talking about a plan to improve the living conditions for all of us, had nothing to do with the travesty you’d like to lay at his doorstep. My question to you is, what possible objection could you have to Rainforth’s cattle venture?”
All eyes lifted to where Lady Lindville sat.
“It’s not the venture. It’s the man. You’re not so isolated here in the country that you don’t know his reputation.”
Lady Clythebrook chuckled, then reached for a chocolate on a plate in front of her. “Oh, Lavinia. Every young buck with a title has a reputation before he settles down. He’d be a dull fellow indeed if he didn’t.”
There was a chorus of twitters from all the ladies, even the Pottsworth sisters.