by Jane Feather
“Pray do not look so stern, Damian.” Her voice was soft, concerned, as she came over to him, putting her arms around his waist, nuzzling against his chest. “We must accept what we have. To wish for more than is possible can only bring unhappiness.”
“Is it not possible to wish for your safety?” he asked, stroking through the auburn hair massed against his chest.
“You must not worry about that.” Her tongue ran delicately over the scar on his shoulder. “I have been quite safe for three years, and there is no reason why that should change. The operation is most efficient, you should know.”
“I am sure that it is.” He could not conceal the dryness of his tone. “I will endeavor to calm my fears, ma’am.”
Merrie chuckled. “You have much in common with Nan, Lord Rutherford. She will be waiting up for me. She always does so on these occasions and scolds me unmercifully until I am in bed.”
“Then I will leave the scolding to Nan.” Cupping her buttocks, he pulled her against him. “You will promise me one thing.”
“If I am able.” The mischief had left her expression, which was now quiet and grave.
“You will not go off on these insane flights without first telling me.”
“They are not insane, Damian, my love. They are the only way I may keep body and soul together.”
He shook his head. “It is more than that. You enjoy the danger and the risks.”
Meredith thought of the bottles of madeira and the note left on the steps of the custom house. That was something she should perhaps keep to herself. “A little, mayhap. It enlivens an otherwise dull existence.”
Damian caught her chin, examining her face carefully. “You have not answered me.”
“I will tell you when there is to be a run or a delivery,” she agreed. “But perhaps you would be easier if you did not know.”
“Your promise,” he demanded.
“You have it.”
“Then I must be satisfied for the moment.” Releasing her, he picked up his britches, pulling them on roughly before shrugging into his shirt. “Do not, however, imagine that the matter rests permanently.”
“It cannot be otherwise.” Her voice was low but nonetheless determined.
Rutherford simply smiled and tweaked her nose. “There are still things you need to learn, my little smuggler, for all that you think you know all there is to know. Come, I will escort you to your door and, since I do not wish to see you looking fagged tomorrow, you will oblige me by sleeping late in the morning.”
That made her laugh. “You, sir, are responsible for the lateness of the hour. It is already morning.”
“So it is.” He eased her ahead of him into the passage that climbed to the house. “Tomorrow night we shall be a little earlier, I think.”
“And a little more comfortable,” she whispered, turning to face him in the narrow space as they reached the tunnel’s end. “Do not let us spoil this. I have never been so happy, so at peace. Can you not also be content?”
He could not resist the appeal. Meredith had known little enough happiness in her adult life, and it was his intention to increase what she had, not to reduce it. “I am content,” he said. “Kiss me good-night, my love.”
She did so, her lips lingering sweetly on his, her hands palming his scalp before she broke away and reached up to the stone slab. It fell back with a muffled thud and Rutherford lifted her through the opening. As he made to hand her the lantern, she shook her head. “No, I have no further need of it, but it will lighten your way. Leave it in the cave.”
He kissed his fingertips to her, waiting until the slab fell back into place before returning to the cave. Were he not so afraid for her safety, he would have drawn considerable amusement from this game she insisted they play. It was so utterly absurd that a former colonel in Wellington’s army should be aiding and abetting a flagrant lawbreaker, conducting a love affair subterranean in more ways than one, hoisting his mistress through secret trap doors. Lord Rutherford shook his head helplessly as he emerged into the gray dawn of the cliff path. He had come into Cornwell looking for distraction. It were foolish to complain when he found it far greater than his wildest dreams.
Nan, starting up from the day bed where she had been dozing, blinked at her nursling. “Land sakes! What have you been up to?”
Meredith closed the door softly. “Smuggling, Nan.” Her eyes twinkled.
“Look at your hair!” Nan stared. “And your clothes! Where are your stockings? And your shirt is not buttoned right.”
“Oh, hush,” Meredith begged. “If you ask no questions, love, you will be told no lies.”
“If your mother could see you now!” the old woman muttered, but to Merrie’s relief she said no more. Nan was too shrewd and knew Meredith far too well to pursue the subject of her disarray. She formed her own opinions, drew her own conclusions as she put Merrie to bed, tucking her in briskly. There was a look in the sloe eyes that gladdened her heart, a look she hadn’t seen in years. The girl was happy and Nan was not going to throw any obstacle in the way of that happiness. Blowing out the candle, she left her and went off to seek her own bed.
Merrie lay in bed, her head turned toward the window, watching the gray streaks in the sky turn to roseate dawn. It was going to be a beautiful day. Her heart skipped and, if she hadn’t been filled with the most wonderful, satisfied lethargy, she would have left her bed to skip along the shore as the day grew full. She loved and was loved in return; the night’s business had gone well and Ducket’s Spinney would soon be in her hands again. In another year, she would have paid off the five-thousand-pound loan. Life was good if one learned to take what was offered and not to ask for more. She would be satisfied with what she had for as long as it was vouchsafed her. When Damian had to return to his family and the life to which he was born and bred, she would accept that also, giving thanks for what she had had. It was a glory that few women experienced, after all, and she would make the memories last a lifetime.
Chapter Eleven
“I heard a monstrous amusing story in Fowey this morning.” Sir Algernon Barrat beamed around the circle of guests in his wife’s drawing room. He was a hospitable soul, always delighted to find his wife entertained by callers, and it was thus that he thought of it. The caller entertained Patience rather than the reverse. There was quite a party of them this afternoon, and he made haste to offer the gentlemen a more spirited alternative to the teapot.
“ ’Tis a story to shock the ladies, I dare swear, but a little shock to the delicate sensibilities does not always come amiss.” He chuckled, refilling Lord Rutherford’s glass with claret. “In fact, I think, for all their protests, the ladies enjoy it. What think ye, Rutherford?”
“Not being a married man, Barrat, I wouldn’t dare venture an opinion,” his lordship demurred. “My knowledge of the fair sex is far from extensive.”
“As befits a soldier, my lord,” Lady Blake murmured demurely, her fingers picking nervously at her glove.
“Just so, ma’am,” he concurred with a solemn bow.
“Now, do tell us your story, Algernon,” Patience broke in. “I am sure we shall not be subject to a fit of the vapors. For all you gentlemen like to think of us as hothouse plants, we are not so delicate.” She smiled and nodded complacently around the room.
“Well, ’tis a story of the Gentlemen,” her husband announced, reposing his large bulk in a delicate Chippendale chair, twirling the stem of his wine glass between meaty fingers. “Not a subject generally mentioned in front of the ladies, Rutherford,” he informed his lordship. “In fact, the least said about them in society the better, but this story is too rich, so we’ll break the rules for once.”
“Oh, do make haste and reach the point, husband,” Lady Barrat said impatiently. “We are like to die of anticipation.”
“Very well, m’dear, very well. I had it from Dr. Forrest that the Gentlemen made a delivery to Fowey two nights ago, right under the noses of the revenue and—” he pause
d for dramatic effect “—played such a trick that has the coastguard hopping mad as fire. ’Tis the talk of Fowey that this time whoever leads the Gentlemen has gone too far in his audacity.”
“Oh, dear,” Meredith said, her teacup chattering in the saucer. “I am so sorry, but talk of those rough men makes me so nervous. Why, Sir John used to say that they had no compunction in dealing with spies and informants, and any knowledge that one had of them was a dangerous thing. Pray do not let us speak of them further.”
“Oh, you must not worry, my dear.” Patience patted her hand as she adroitly removed the shivering teacup. “There is no need to be nervous about what is said in this room. You are amongst friends. It is not as if any of us would even know a smuggler, so what is said here could hardly reach their ears.”
“You are right, of course, dear Lady Barrat,” Meredith murmured. “I am just being foolish.”
“If Lady Blake’s fears are sufficiently quietened, Barrat, we’re all eager to hear the cream of the jest,” Lord Rutherford prompted, his eyes on Meredith. He was in little doubt that her interruption had been a diversionary tactic designed to prevent his hearing the end of the story. Her head was lowered, but there was a pink tinge to her cheeks that would pass unnoticed by all save himself, who was learning to read her like a book.
“It is said that when the officers arrived at headquarters the next morning, they found two bottles of madeira and a note of thanks up against the door.” Sir Algernon roared with laughter, slapping his corduroy-clad thigh. “Is it not rich? Such a nerve to issue the challenge direct. Why, ’tis as good as a glove in the face. They’ll be bound to answer it.”
“Perhaps not,” Meredith said hesitantly in her low voice. “Perhaps, if the madeira were of a particularly fine vintage, they will simply be grateful for it.”
The remark was sufficiently asinine to render the group speechless for a moment until Sir Algernon coughed and said, “Just so, just so, dear lady. A nice thought, very nice, but I do not think the world is as pleasant a place as you would have it, my lady.”
“It would be a pity to destroy Lady Blake’s illusions,” Damian said, with a smile at Meredith that came nowhere near his eyes. “Such a refreshingly charitable view of human nature is rare indeed.”
“Dear me,” Meredith fluttered. “You are too kind, my lord. But it is true that there is so much unpleasantness, we must do all possible to mitigate it.” She offered her nervous smile to the room at large.
“On occasion,” his lordship observed meaningfully, “a degree of unpleasantness is both necessary and good for the soul.”
“Do you think that perhaps the coastguard will succeed in stopping the Gentlemen, Sir Algernon?” Mrs. Ansby asked.
“It’s to be hoped not,” the squire declared in fervent accents. “I cannot imagine how we’d go on without them. But I dare swear the officers will be a deal more watchful in the future.”
Meredith gathered up her recticule and stood, smoothing down the skirts of the dull, brown round gown she wore for afternoon visiting. “Dear Patience, thank you so much for your hospitality. And Sir Algernon.” She dropped a small curtsy in his direction. “Your story was most entertaining, sir, and you must not regard my foolishness.” A small titter that grated on Rutherford’s already raw nerves accompanied the statement. As she curtsied, giving him her hand in farewell, Damian squeezed her fingers hard enough to draw from her a slight grimace of pained protest.
“I must make my farewells, also, Lady Barrat,” he said smoothly. “If you will but wait a moment, Lady Blake, I will escort you to your carriage.”
Meredith could not refuse his offer without appearing appallingly impolite and so was obliged to stand to one side as he punctiliously made his bows to the ladies, shook his host’s hand, and then held the door for Merrie.
The gig stood before the front door in the charge of young Tommy. Lord Rutherford handed her up, saying in tones as soft as silk, “I look forward to our next meeting, Lady Blake. There is much I would say to you.”
“Is there, my lord?” The square chin went up. “I cannot imagine what you mean.”
“I am certain that, if you allow your powers of imagination full rein, ma’am, you will come up with the answer.” He stood back as she flicked the reins and the inelegant equippage moved away down the drive.
“I cannot imagine why, at some point in your lamentably neglected childhood, someone did not trouble to beat some common sense into you!” Lord Rutherford raged, as he had been doing for the best part of ten minutes.
Merrie, who had maintained a prudent and defenseless silence throughout his peroration, continued to sit upon a rock, hands folded in her lap, eyes firmly riveted to the sandy floor of the cave.
“Why?” Damian demanded. “Give me one good reason why you should add to what are already intolerable risks by such a piece of self-indulgent foolishness.”
“I did not think of it as such at the time,” she offered with a hopefully placating smile. “It is done now and there is nothing to be gained by complaint although you are most eloquent.” Her lips twitched impishly. “Shall we not have a glass of burgundy—it is quite excellent, I promise you—and a little of the supper that I have been at such pains to prepare?”
Supper was laid out on an upturned box covered with a gaily checkered cloth. A dusty, crusted wine bottle stood open beside a platter of dressed crabs, a basket of new baked bread, a crock of golden butter, and a bowl of cherries.
“The crabs are fresh caught and dressed with my own hands,” she said, pouring the rich ruby wine into two glasses. “A toast, my lord?”
He took the glass, reluctant to give up his righteous wrath, yet incapable of maintaining it in the face of that smile. “To what, Merrie Trelawney?”
“Truce?” she suggested. “Love, perhaps?” Her hair hung loose to her shoulders, and she wore one of the simple dimity print gowns that he found infinitely preferable to the stuffy formality of the hideous bombazines, satinets, and merinos that she affected for her public persona. The gown was modestly cut at the neck, had long, tight sleeves buttoning to the wrists, and was caught at the waist with a broad sash. Beneath it, her feet were bare. She presented an image almost virginal in its country simplicity except for those wicked eyes and the grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was quite clearly totally unabashed by the recriminations just now heaped upon her head.
Rutherford sighed in resignation. “In the name of love, then, Merrie, will you not give up this wildness?”
“I cannot,” she said quietly. “And it were wildness only if it were unnecessary. But only thus can I achieve my goals. I must have Pendennis back in my hands. I must be free of debt and then do what I can to provide for my brothers. I cannot send them penniless into the world.”
“Then marry me,” he said fiercely, putting his glass down on the makeshift table, reaching for her hands.
Meredith shook her head. “That is not an answer, Damian. I’ll not marry anyone to escape my difficulties.”
“That is not what I am suggesting.” He took away her glass and put it with his own. “Marry me for love, the love I have for you and that you say you have for me.”
“Only in the novels of Mrs. Radclyffe, my dear, does love conquer all.” She smiled, trying to soften what she was saying. “What we have is an adventure, and it can never be more than that. Only consider our positions: Keighleys do not marry Trelawneys, but, more than that, they most certainly do not marry smugglers.”
“You would not be a smuggler when I married you, and this modesty about your birth is nonsense. I have neither the need nor the inclination to make a brilliant match, and the only disreputable part of you, Merrie Trelawney, is this passion for illegal adventuring.”
“I am an adventuress and I shall always be so.” Meredith was unsure how true that was, but she knew only that for Rutherford’s sake she must convince him of the futility of his arguments. “You have been unhappy, bored—”
“That
is enough!” He released her hands abruptly. “You insult me, ma’am. I’ll not stand to hear you tell me again that my feelings for you arise solely out of boredom and anger over my interrupted military career.” Swinging on his heel, he made for the passage leading to the cliff path.
Meredith looked sadly around the cavern. The little table, the colorful bed of bright cushions stolen from the gazebo, that elegant little supper, all the preparations that she had made with such a light heart informed by passion now seemed just what they were—the pathetic evidence of a little girl playing house in fantasy land. It had been foolish to think Damian would be her playmate without asking for more. He didn’t live in the land of make-believe as she did, was not accustomed to playing so many parts that sometimes one was not sure quite which part was the true one. She had seen this love affair as an extension of her theatricals, another play within the play. Only by seeing it in those terms could she distance the reality and, thus, the pain of the knowledge of its inevitable transitory nature.
“Very well, my little adventuress, if that is what you want, then that is what you shall have.”
Meredith spun around at the suddenly harsh voice. Damian stood in the tunnel’s entrance, hands on hips, and there was little of the lover about the grim set of his jaw, the determination in the gray eyes. “If risks and adventure are necessary for you, then I am happy to supply them.”
Her mouth opened and closed rather in the manner of one of Rob’s trout. Before she could form any words, let alone articulate them, he had picked her up as if she weighed no more than a kitten, which she knew she did not, and was striding with her into the tunnel.
They had emerged into the soft air of late evening before Merrie found her voice. “Put me down! Are you quite mad?”