Patrica Rice (30 page)

“I am not stubborn. Everyone knows I’m pleasant and even-tempered.” Blanche wrapped the sheet around her and tucked it in over her breasts, aware he watched her in the mirror. She gulped when he produced shaving gear and began to soap his face. He’d always done that in privacy before.

“You are stubborn and intractable and want your own way, and you sweet talk anyone until you get it. I’m not one of your blind-with-greed suitors, my lady. I know your foibles as well as anyone. But I’ll willingly put up with them in return for some very admirable traits you also possess.” He raised a leering eyebrow at the mirror.

She flung a pillow at his bare back, but he deflected it with his shoulder and let it fall to the floor. “I also have one other trait of which you’re apparently not aware,” she replied with ominous softness.

He gave her a quizzical look over his shoulder.

Blanche smiled maliciously. “A need to relieve myself every few hours while carrying your child. Out.” She pointed at the door.

Eyebrows raised in surprise and chagrin, he beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

Michael watched Blanche pick at her food over the breakfast table while he tried to explain Eamon’s warning about the Bodmin miners and the state of her affairs. He wasn’t at all certain she was listening, but at least she hadn’t bashed his brains out yet. If she hadn’t done so for telling her they were married, she really was better tempered than most.

“From what I can ascertain, your mine had an accident last week that killed three men,” he told her. “There have been similar incidents lately, with eleven lives lost all told. The men are claiming the owner demands every inch of the seam mined, which leaves weak or no supports at all. They believe the owner will close the mine as soon as every possible cent is removed, while risking all their lives in the process. And once the mine is closed, they will have lost their livelihoods. Some have already moved on, but those with families cannot.”

Blanche raised her eyebrows, appalled. “I am not so desperate for funds that I need cost men their lives for every farthing. I cannot understand Barnaby acting under such an impression. And I have just got rid of the latest steward for making similar suggestions.” She looked at him with open curiosity. “How is the mine manager paid? On the basis of profits?”

She caught on quickly. Michael produced a folded sheet of vellum from his pocket. “Since I don’t have access to your records, I can’t say for certain, but I would assume so. And I’m not at all certain that Barnaby didn’t have some such agreement with your grandfather also. It’s only reasonable to expect men to make more money when they share in the profit. Unfortunately, some men are more greedy than others, and that is likely the case here. I want to go to the mine office as Barnaby’s replacement. I’ve drawn up a letter for your signature, appointing me as your agent. If the manager thinks I’m another Barnaby, he should tell me all I need to know.”

Blanche’s eyes widened. Under other circumstances, Michael would have simply forged her name and gone on. But they had to develop some means of working together, and she must trust him before they could.

“And what will you do if what you suspect is true?” she asked.

“I will order the mine closed until you can hire inspectors. If the mine actually is played out, we must locate other mines in the area you could invest in.”

He hadn’t realized he’d been tense until she nodded in agreement, and he relaxed.

“You signed us in as husband and wife last night,” she said. “Would a man like Barnaby travel with his wife?”

Michael thought he saw the direction of her thoughts, and he considered his answer. “He could travel with his wife or mistress, I suppose. My main concern is that they not know who you actually are. Somehow, they know you and not the duke as owner, and I think you would be in physical danger should anyone recognize you. I would feel immensely better if you stayed in the room while I was gone.”

“I understand your concern, but how can I learn these things myself if I must always hide behind men? I would talk to these people, too, and learn what kind of men they are.”

“A man like Barnaby would not bring his wife to a mine. No man would. If I can, I will bring the manager back here for tea, and you can meet him then. You might, however, visit the village. You can learn much from talking with other women.”

“I don’t like it,” she said, “but I understand. When do you think I can start doing this for myself?”

When the moon turned indigo and the sea dried up, Michael thought grimly. He would never let her suffer any heavy burden if he could prevent it. Blanche might be capable of making the right financial decisions, but the hard edge she’d developed lately that was required to enforce them was taking a toll.

“I think your first objective is to learn what you own and how it operates. That’s an enormous task in itself. We’ll find you a good teacher when we reach London.”

She nodded as if accepting it for now.

Michael slid the agreement across to Blanche. “I’ll find pen and ink.”

Studying the paper, Blanche didn’t look up. “Bring more paper. I mean to add a thing or two.”

Michael didn’t like the sound of that, but he went to fetch the required materials. This marriage of theirs had as much potential for explosion as the gunpowder O’Connor used so well.

Michael strode into the mining office, and recognized Barnaby at once.
Well, this should make for an interesting spectacle.
The other man scarcely glanced up from the books he pored over, and Michael turned his attention to the second occupant of the office.

“Elmore Weatherton?” Michael inquired with deceptive composure, knowing full well the fat-bellied pompous ass behind the desk stood responsible for the deaths of eleven men.

The man rubbed at his sweating, balding head and glared at Michael. “Who’s asking?”

Not for the first time, Michael wished he towered over six feet tall and wielded the arrogance of a marquess like Gavin. Instead, he smiled and pulled out the gold watch he’d acquired at a pawn shop. Along with the neatly tailored navy frock coat he’d found back in Ireland and his high-crowned hat, he knew he presented an image of wealth.

“I have precisely one-half hour for you, Mr. Weatherton. This will go much more efficiently if you cooperate.” He produced the sealed vellum from his coat pocket, and laid it on the desk. “I’m Michael Lawrence, Lady Blanche’s new representative in these parts. I’ve come for the company books.”

Barnaby’s head jerked up. To the man’s hostile glare Michael gave a cool nod. “Mr. Barnaby. I wasn’t aware you’d taken employment here.”

Weatherton mopped his brow with his handkerchief after reading the letter. Blustering, he turned on Blanche’s former steward. “You didn’t tell me you were no longer in the lady’s employ. You’ve no business with those books now. I’ll talk with the gentleman in private.”

Michael didn’t want the thief near Blanche. “I have no objection to Mr. Barnaby staying,” Michael said with a casual air. “I’m certain he’s familiar with all the aspects of this operation. Would either of you care to acquaint me with the reason we’re mining a played out seam?”

Barnaby rumbled to his feet like an overgrown bear, grabbed the paper off Weatherton’s desk and scanned it with suspicion. “I’d demand to see the lady herself before I’d believe this drivel.” He flung the paper back to the desk. “This man is a known impostor. He runs tame in the lady’s household, but the duke never gave him any authority.”

The insulting tone he used raised Michael’s hackles. “I would be careful what you say about the lady, Mr. Barnaby,” he said with deceptive softness. “These mines are her concern, not the duke’s, and that paper is signed personally by her. If I do not receive immediate cooperation here, I have the authority to shut down this mine. Now, shall we talk or argue?”

Barnaby uttered a curse, flung the book he held on the desk, and stalked out of the office. Michael swung on his heel and hurried after.

* * *

Blanche sat in the sunshine on a bench outside a bake shop, sampling a delicious apple dumpling drenched in the sweetest cream she’d ever tasted. Pampered like this, she could almost accept Michael’s assumption of her duties.

A tall, lean young man stopped and look at her before entering the darkened doorway of a tavern. Feeling shabby in her old clothes, she took a certain amount of gratification that young men might still look at her. Uncertain of the legalities of Scots law, she had a hard time thinking of herself as a married woman. Or Michael as a married man. Could one marry will o’wisps?

She had no idea how one went about talking to strangers. She’d known the villagers and farmers around Anglesey all her life, so that wasn’t the same. She didn’t know this town or what questions to ask. Michael was right. She didn’t know enough.

The lean young man reappeared in the tavern doorway with a scruffy-looking older man. They stared in her direction with expressions that were rude rather than flirtatious. Blanche shook out her skirt and returned inside the bake shop.

The two men had disappeared by the time she emerged again. In relief, she took the direction the bake shop owner had given her for the dry goods store. She could pick up some needles and thread and make her gown a little less dull.

Blanche purchased the required materials and entered into a conversation with the wives of several of the local shopkeepers over the cost of thread, then left the dry goods store in a much better humor. How absolutely marvelous to have the freedom to go where she wished and speak to whom she wished. Perhaps marriage might have its benefits after all.

“Lady Blanche!”

Startled, she glanced up at the speaker before she remembered she was supposed to be Mrs. Lawrence. To her astonishment, her former steward hurried toward her. “Mr. Barnaby, what brings you here?”

“I must talk with you. May we go where we can speak privately?” He grabbed her arm and tried to lead her down the street.

“Mr. Barnaby, I did not give you permission to lay a hand on me.” She smacked his meaty hand with her reticule, forcing him to a halt.

Over his shoulder, she saw Michael hurrying down the street. She refused the role of helpless female. The time had arrived to assert herself.

Taking a deep breath and summoning what little courage she possessed, Blanche skirted around Barnaby and smiled a welcome. “Michael! Look who’s here. Perhaps Mr. Barnaby can answer some of your questions.”

With casual possessiveness, she took her husband’s arm.

“Michael, is it now?” Barnaby sneered. “I’m sure the duke won’t be pleased to hear you’re so familiar with the man.”

Blithely, Blanche flapped her lashes at him. “Did you expect me to call him Mr. Lawrence like some cit? How very bourgeois of you. But I assure you Neville doesn’t find my familiarity with my husband in the least unfashionable.”

The muscles of Michael’s arm tightened beneath her fingers. Turning to smile at him, she glimpsed the tall, lean man again, but she could only deal with one situation at a time. “Dear, this is Mr. Barnaby who once handled this nasty mine situation for me.”

Michael nodded stiffly. “Barnaby. I think it best if we talk without my wife’s presence. I have a few words for you.”

Blanche didn’t like the sound of that at all. “I’m not an incompetent simpleton, sir. I have dealt with Mr. Barnaby these past years and more. We will all sit down and discuss the situation together. Will Mr. Weatherton join us?”

Michael glowered. Barnaby scowled.

Blanche stood firm. She might know utterly nothing about mines or men like Barnaby, but she wouldn’t learn if he kept shoving her behind closed doors. She had Michael bested, and he knew it

Acknowledging defeat, Michael caught her elbow. “We’ll return to the inn. Barnaby, fetch Weatherton and the books. We have matters to discuss.”

Blanche released a sigh of relief when Michael hurried her toward the inn. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Barnaby would appear with any books or that she would know what to do with them if he did. But she was fairly certain she had averted a fight.

“Are you out of your mind?” Michael grumbled as he tugged her through the inn portals. “You haven’t even told Neville yet, and you’re flaunting our marriage to a creature like that?”

Blanche shrugged. “It will do Neville good to learn his place in my affairs. He’s not my guardian, you know. I’m of age and completely independent.”

“Too independent for your own good.” Michael signaled the innkeeper and asked for a private dining chamber. “You didn’t even give the matter of publicly announcing our marriage any thought. What possessed you?”

Blanche wrenched her arm from his grasp and followed the innkeeper, waiting to speak until the doors of the room closed behind them and they had privacy. “I didn’t want you punching Barnaby and that was the only way I could think to stop you.”

For a moment, Michael looked amused, then he shoved his hand through his hair and shook his head. “You thought I couldn’t handle him. I owe you no gratitude for your lack of confidence. Now we must deal with the matter of our marriage as well as the mine.”

That gave her pause, but she wouldn’t let him see it. She trailed her overlong skirt to the window. “You should have thought of that before you married me, although I don’t expect it to crimp your unfettered existence.”

She couldn’t see his expression, but his curt, clipped tones conveyed his hurt.

“I am not your father. I will not leave you to fend for yourself while I amuse myself elsewhere. So you may remove that notion from your head right now.”

She heard his footsteps walking away, heard the door slam behind him. She couldn’t say for certain why she had said what she had. She supposed she just wanted the hurt out of the way. She really didn’t think Michael could change his nature for her, even should he so desire.

* * *

When neither Weatherton or Barnaby arrived for their meeting, Michael consulted with Blanche, obtained her agreement once she understood the dangerous working conditions, then took matters in his own hands. This time, when he walked into the mine office, he confiscated the books, ordered the mines closed until further notice, and held a meeting with the miners.