Heat rose in Josiah’s chest. Grinding his teeth, he stood. For the sake of his sanity, he refused to relive that past. Trevenick and his power had already stolen enough from him.
He’d be dashed if he let that man claim a particle more.
Chapter 10
Good day, Mistress Hendrick.”
The voice at her back made her start and turn. Phineas Trevenick stood behind her, studying her beneath the brim of his beaver hat.
She made a slight curtsy. Launcegrave bustled with the din of market day. Peter had taken ill with fever, leaving Josiah at the forge, rushing to meet a large order for nails without an assistant. She’d offered to make their twice-monthly trip to town alone and had ridden in, stabling the horse at the Three Swans while she shopped.
“Admiring the millinery?” He gestured to the window display of velvet-trimmed bonnets and plumed hats.
“Only for a moment. I’d best be on my way.” She ducked her head and turned to walk away. She’d not soon forget Josiah’s conversation with Mr. Trevenick two weeks prior. Truth be told, more than one night, she’d lain awake sleepless, thinking of little else. Why had Josiah not told her what he’d done? Or of Mr. Trevenick’s visit? His silence had stilled her own tongue from bringing the matter up with him.
“Why the hurry?”
She’d have continued onward, pretending not to have heard him, but ’twould have been improper to cut a member of the gentry. Slowly, she turned back around. A horse and rider clip-clopped down the street, passing them.
“I’ve errands to attend to, sir,” she said, voice cool.
“You look troubled.” His brow furrowed. His coat was the color of plums, his cravat snowy white. She was surprised he’d dirty his polished black boots with the refuse of Launcegrave. “Have I offended you?”
She shook her head.
“Well, something seems amiss.” He took a step closer, the scent of musky cologne wafting over her.
Did she dare? She’d vowed to somehow repay Josiah but had conjured no way to do it. Mayhap this man might provide a way. “I do confess, sir. I don’t quite know what to think of you.”
He arched a brow.
She swallowed back the dryness in her throat. “What I mean to say is, at the … um … auction, you did bid for me.” Would he admit to it?
To her surprise, he nodded. “I did. When I came upon the scene in the square, I was quite naturally appalled. To think the auctioneer would have countenanced such a thing. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I had my servant bid for you. As a gentleman, I could not stand by and witness a lady in such distress without doing what I could to alleviate it. I thought after all was said and done, I could employ you in my household as a servant.”
A servant? Such a life in a fine house like she’d heard Trevenick Hall was would have been bearable. Equally respectable.
“I am glad you did not.” What had Josiah meant by those words? Was Phineas Trevenick a monster? Josiah seemed to hold no fondness of feeling toward him.
“Then why did my husband prevent you?”
He shook his head as if equally confused. “I don’t know. When he came to me and offered his share in the mine I already own the majority of in exchange for allowing him to win the bidding, I gave way.”
She still didn’t understand. Not Mr. Trevenick’s motives, nor Josiah’s.
“But what of the share? Is there any way it might be gained back?”
He took a step toward her. “Why do you inquire?”
She met his gaze. “I know Josiah was loath to part with it.” But why then, had he? Mayhap he valued it less than she thought.
He gave a brief smile, eyes lingering on her face. “I understand your concern. And would welcome discussing the matter further, but not here in the open street. Would you wait upon me tomorrow for tea at Trevenick Hall? I shall be in all day.”
“Would you like my husband to wait upon you as well?”
“That won’t be necessary.” He lowered his voice. “I should tell you, Mistress Hendrick, that your husband has harbored strong resentment toward me since his youth. Even at an early age, he showed aptitude for managing Wheal Prosper, and his father’s loss of it to mine was a bitter blow. Since then, he’s refused to meet me on civil terms. I think it would be best if you and I attended to this matter alone. To spare him any embarrassment, you understand.”
That explained Josiah’s behavior toward Mr. Trevenick the night of the fair. All men had their weaknesses. Tom Brody’s was drink and debt. This harbored grudge from the past, Josiah’s.
A gust of autumn air chilled her face, fingered beneath her cloak. She shivered. “If that is what you think best.”
“Then until tomorrow, Mistress Hendrick.” He tipped his hat and walked away. She headed down the street in the opposite direction, marketing basket in hand, cloak billowing behind her, exposing the lower part of her arms to the bite of the air.
Mayhap Mistress Wingfield had some insight into the matter. Before returning home, she could stop at the parsonage to speak to the woman. To gain answers. Not more questions. She’d enough of those.
A lifetime’s worth.
Trevenick Hall stood at the end of the avenue, a towering edifice of caramel stone. Its very pillars seemed to proclaim the power and pride of its occupants.
Hurrying up the shrub-flanked avenue, breathless in the stay-laced confines of the burgundy gown, she felt as small as a child in comparison to the immense estate before her. The circular drive with a stone fountain at its center, the manicured lawn, the dozens of windowpanes winking in the sunlight, bespoke a manner of living that couldn’t be further from the one she’d lived with Tom Brody.
What place had she to call upon the head of one of the foremost families in Cornwall? Mayhap she should turn round. Toward Josiah and the forge and safety.
Her steps crunched determinedly on the gravel. She’d not retreat. She’d come this far already.
Mistress Wingfield had been out, Lydia told her. So she’d not had a chance yesterday to speak to the woman about Josiah or her course of action. She’d slipped away from the house an hour ago, taking care not to let Josiah see her leave in her best gown. She’d left a note on the table, saying she was going to the Darters. Doubtless he’d wonder why she’d not told him herself.
She couldn’t bother about that now.
Slowing her pace, she ascended the wide stone steps, walking between pillars that dwarfed her to reach the massive front door. She stared at the brass knocker shaped like a crest, a curved T in the center, before lifting her hand to take hold of it and knock.
A moment passed. Her heart thudded beneath the bodice of her gown.
What did she hope to achieve, exactly? For Mr. Trevenick to cede to her a share rightly his? Though he seemed a gentleman, such a request went beyond the bounds of courtesy.
He’d invited her. She’d not imposed herself.
She’d let him take the lead, see what happened.
A liveried footman opened the door. “Yes?”
“Mistress Hendrick to see Mr. Trevenick. He’s expecting me,” she added.
“Come in.” He held the door while she stepped inside, then closed it with an echoing click. “Your cloak?” asked another servant in identical wig and livery.
Fingers unwieldy from cold, she undid the ties and handed over the garment. The footman laid it over his arm and disappeared down the hall, shoes an echo on the marble.
“Right this way.” The first footman led the way, leaving her to follow. The house was called Trevenick Hall, but it seemed a palace, with dark wood paneling and gilt-framed paintings of stern-faced men in powdered wigs. He led her through an arched threshold, down a passageway, their steps an echo. He opened a door on the left.
“Mistress Hendrick to see you, sir.”
“Send her in. And bring tea.”
The footman held the door and nodded to her. She stepped inside. Mr. Trevenick rose from a settee in a room as elegantly appointed as the great hal
l.
He made a bow. “Mistress Hendrick. Good afternoon.”
She curtsied. “Good afternoon.”
“Won’t you sit down?” He gestured to the matching settee across from his. She crossed the room and sat on the edge, her hands brushing the silk upholstery. He resumed his seat and crossed his legs, one hand leaning on the armrest. A ring with a green stone the size of a small robin’s egg glinted on his pinky. The heat of the crackling fire warmed her chilled fingers and face.
“I saw you coming up the avenue. You walked here.”
She nodded.
“Was that not strenuous? It is over two miles from the Hall to the smithy. I marvel at your strength.”
“’Tis an easy distance.” She didn’t add that she’d had no other way of going to the Hall without attracting Josiah’s attention.
The door opened and the footman carried in a silver tray. He set it on the low table in front of Mr. Trevenick’s settee with only the faintest of rattles, bowed, and left the room.
Mr. Trevenick leaned forward, lifted the silver pot in one hand, and poured tea into a delicate cream-and-gold patterned cup. “Milk? Sugar?”
Had her stomach not been knotted with unease, she’d have answered yes to both, just to see what it tasted like. “Thank you, but nay. Plain is fine.”
“A biscuit?” He gestured to the tray of round biscuits dusted in a powder so fine it looked like a scattering of snow.
She shook her head. “Nay. Thank you.”
He rose and handed her the cup of tea. Beneath the saucer, their fingers brushed. “Thank you,” she murmured.
His gaze held hers. “My pleasure.”
He returned to his seat and poured his own tea, dropping two lumps of sugar into the cup with little silver tongs. She sipped the steaming drink. The tea’s richness marked it as of the finest quality, even without milk and sugar.
But she hadn’t come here for tea. Lowering the cup with a clink, she drew in a shallow breath. “Pray do not think me forward, but should we not get down to the reason for this visit?”
“Which is?” He set his cup on the edge of the table.
“My husband’s share in Wheal Prosper. You did say we’d discuss the matter further.” She tempered her words with a smile.
“So I did.” He leaned back in his seat. “I regret I must tell you, much as it pains me, there’s nothing to be done. Your husband sold the share to me, completing the transaction with a bill of sale. A fair and legal business matter. And unless he has the capital to pay me back, I’m afraid my hands are tied.”
After she’d come all this way, that was all he had to tell her? He could have said as much yesterday. She pressed her lips together. “If such a sum could be got hold of, would you sell?”
“I’m afraid not.” He stood and walked toward her, seating himself on the opposite end of the settee. “The truth of the matter is, I’ve long coveted that share. It was owned by a distant relation of mine, who, upon his death, gifted it to Hendrick. Parting with it now would be a matter of bad business.”
Heat crept up the exposed skin of her neck. What a wasted journey. She’d been foolish to think any good could come of it. “Why did you summon me here if that was all you had to tell me?”
He took the cup and saucer from her hands and set it on the end table beside the settee. “I apologize if I’ve done so under false pretenses.” He reached across and took her hand, holding it in both of his. She pulled away, but he held fast, his fingers trapping hers. “Since that night at the fair, I’ve been wondering how I might manage to renew your acquaintance. Meeting you in town yesterday provided the perfect opportunity.”
“Why would you wish to renew our acquaintance? Surely you’ve enough of your own kind to associate with.” She didn’t care how angry her voice sounded. He’d tricked and misled her. He deserved all the ire she could mete out.
“Perhaps I do. But none are as beautiful—” He removed one of his hands from around hers and trailed his thumb down the side of her cheek. She sucked in a sharp breath. “—as you. I find my usual restraint has all but—” He trailed lower, brushing her bottom lip. “—fled.”
Panic rose tight in her throat. She had to leave. “You forget yourself, sir. I am a married woman.” The bravado in her words did not altogether hide the tremble there.
“You are mistaken, my dear.” He leaned closer, his breath brushing her cheek, lips nearing hers. “I forget nothing.”
She turned her face away.
“I could offer you a great many things. Fine clothes. Jewels. Luxury enough to make you forget you ever sought that paltry share.” Honey purled through his voice. “A beauty like yours is in wont of ornament to enhance it. It would be my pleasure to provide such ornaments.” His breath tickled her cheek. “In return for your favor, you’d find my generosity … boundless.”
“You are greatly mistook if you think I am that kind of woman.” She struggled against his grip on her wrist, teeth gritted. “I’m asking you to let me go.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re even more beautiful when your passions are roused.” He leaned over her, his weight pushing her back against the settee.
She gasped, head jarring against the armrest. Pain shot through the back of her skull. Her vision blurred with the impact. “Stop! Release me at once, or I will scream.”
“It will be of no use to you.” He shucked off his jacket, legs pinning her to the settee. “There’s not a soul here to come to your aid. Here, I am the only master.” He leaned over her, hands reaching beneath her skirts, the scent of his cologne making her sick. “What I desire, I possess.”
Her mind began to go blank, shutting out her surroundings, drawing into itself. The only shield she had. ’Twas happening again. Only this time, ’twas violation she’d suffer, not mere abuse. Bruises to her skin would heal.
Those to her soul would not.
Too many times she’d been a victim of the strike of Tom Brody’s hand or the sting of his strap. Again and again, she’d endured the physical pain, weeping tears that went deeper than the marks upon her body. Beseeching God for deliverance. When none had come, she’d ceased to ask.
But now …
God, please, save me.
She would fight.
His breath heaved in her ear as his saliva-wet lips neared hers. Drawing on every ounce of strength, she raised her knee and drove it hard into the flesh of his stomach. Once. Twice. He reeled back with a yowl of pain and a muttered curse.
Heart pounding, she clambered off the couch. One chance. That’s all she had.
She ran, not looking back, grasping the doorknob and flinging open the door. He called after her, his shouts echoing in her ears. Her footsteps slapped against the floor, her skirts fisted in her hands. Down the corridor, through the great hall. A footman stood sentry, but she wrenched open the door herself and fled down the steps. She flew across the gravel, lungs burning, hair flying behind her.
Escape.
That single word became her heartbeat.
She ran until she could run no more and Trevenick Hall was far behind her. Then she collapsed to the ground, gulping in breaths, tears streaming down her cheeks. Stones and dirt bit through her stockings, but she scarcely heeded the pain. Fire stitched her side, and she pressed her hand against the spot.
She was unharmed. His lips had not touched hers, and he’d not violated her. She should be overwhelmed by relief. And she was. Yet shame yawned deeper. Sorrow. She’d brought it upon herself by thinking she could somehow alter the course of events Josiah had put into motion when he’d sold his share. In the end, she could do nothing to get it back.
About so many of life’s miseries, she could do nothing.
She’d wondered why her husband treated Mr. Trevenick with coldness. No longer. She’d thought him a gentleman. She could not have been more mistook. Likely ’twas not some petty grudge from the past that made Josiah cold toward him, but his knowledge of the blackness of Trevenick’s character.
If he’d not rescued her, she could be trapped at Trevenick Hall, Phineas Trevenick, her master, subject to his violation.
Not only had Josiah saved her from Tom Brody; he’d protected her from so much more.
A tear trailed down her cheek. She brushed it away.
’Twas time to move forward. Josiah had treated her with nothing but honor. If he’d esteemed her enough to sacrifice for her, should she not accept his gift instead of doubting her worthiness to receive it?
Mayhap the God she’d so often petitioned had heard her cries and indeed granted deliverance. Both through Josiah’s rescue and giving her the strength to fight today.
Thank You, Lord.
She picked herself up off the ground and moved down the road in the direction of home, though her legs still shook. Feathered clouds swirled against the blue of the sky, the grass browning as autumn overtook summer.
She’d give herself tonight to rest and gather herself enough to speak to Josiah tomorrow. She’d tell him the truth about everything, including confessing what she’d done today. If they were to have any kind of loving marriage, honesty and openness must come from both sides.
Oh, that he might accept her heart, bestow his in return. If she could but know she had a chance at attaining the love of this good and gentle man …
In time. In time, I can ask him all.
Onward she walked, filled with the strength of a plan newly made.
Chapter 11
Hoofbeats pounded the road. Stepping out of the forge, Josiah squinted into the glare of afternoon sun. Horse and rider turned down the lane. As they did, he glimpsed the face of the man atop the sleek brown animal. Unease stirred in the pit of his stomach.
Phineas Trevenick.
Likely come to pick up the toasting fork. Josiah should have clouted him with it. His jaw hardened. He still might. He stepped into the forge to the bench where he kept finished pieces and took the utensil in his hand. He’d extract every last farthing from this particular transaction. The man could have sent a servant to retrieve it, or tossed the toasting fork in the rubbish bin. They had enough in their coffers to have another sent from London.
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