Smuggler's Lady (14 page)

Try as she would that night, Meredith could not hold down the panic. It floated around her, an amorphous, swirling haze, eluding her comprehension. If she could but understand it, she could control it, but it had come upon her with such startling force. For one minute, she had been lost in the glorious sensation of their contact, her senses and emotions turned in on the warm blackness that contained only the two of them, her only desire that the moment would stretch to infinity. Then the panic had exploded, a violent red ball in the cloaking darkness behind her eyes. She was in danger of losing something, something fundamental, integral to her sense of self and the purpose that informed her life.

It was dawn before she was able to look clearly at what had happened to her. She had fallen in love with the Duke of Keighley's heir. Merrie Trelawney, who earned her living as a smuggler, who lived under the shadow of the hangman's noose, was in love with a future duke. And the future duke had said he loved her, had actually asked her to marry him. But, of course, his madness was easily explained; she had done so quite satisfactorily last night, after all. It was her own that was the mystery. Her reckless self-indulgence had landed her hip deep in waters hotter than she had ever before encountered. She fell asleep eventually to the sounds of the crowing cock, her mind slightly eased by resolution. A resolution she would put into effect at the earliest opportunity.

“Put out my riding habit, Nan, if you please. I have business with Mr. Donne in Fowey.” Meredith pushed aside the bedclothes and stood on the oak floor where the boards were warmed by the morning sun. She stretched, yawned, firmly put aside the strange feeling of emptiness, and drew her nightgown over her head. She was rarely conscious of her body, there being little time and even less reason to be so in her busy, chaste existence, but this morning, as she sponged herself with cool water, she became aware of the length and firmness of her limbs, the softness of her skin. As she touched her breasts, their nipples peaked, hard and rosy, as they had done last night under hands other than her own.

Curiously, she stood in front of the pier glass, heedless of Nan's puzzled disapproval. Did she have the sort of body that would attract a man? She had not been entirely to her husband's taste as he had told her often enough. Boy's hips, he had said, breasts like little lemons, nothing a man could get a hold of. Not like Georgiana Collier, who at seventeen had the voluptuous curves of a Rubens nude.

“Just what are you thinking of? Staring at yourself like that without a stitch on! It's not decent, Meredith!” Nan pushed her chemise into her hands. “You've the body God gave you, and there's naught you can do about it.”

“No,” Merrie agreed sadly. “I had come to the same conclusion.”

“Now, what's brought all this on?” Nan's intelligent old eyes sharpened, and she stared at her erstwhile nursling as if Merrie were again in the schoolroom, harboring an unhappy secret.

“Oh, 'tis nothing at all.” Meredith turned away from the mirror and began to dress hastily.

Nan humphed her disbelief but, to Merrie's relief, did not pursue the matter. In fact, the elderly nurse had her own ideas as to the reasons for this out-of-character behavior, but she was too wise to reveal them, being confident that they would be overhastily denied.

Meredith had reached the foot of the stairs when she heard the unmistakable voice coming from the breakfast parlor. Rob's excited prattle mingled with the clatter of dishes, Hugo's solemn tones, and Lord Rutherford's light but steady ones. She half-turned, hand on the newel post, intending to flee back to her chamber, but Seecombe, bearing a coffee pot, appeared from backstairs.

“Good morning, Lady Merrie. I have just this minute made your coffee, so it is nice and fresh.”

“Thank you, Seecombe. You are most thoughtful.” Resigned, she smiled warmly and preceded him into the breakfast parlor. “Good morning, Lord Rutherford, you are up and visiting betimes. What a delightful surprise.”

His eyes narrowed at her cool tone, but he rose, bowed, and held a chair for her. “I did not intend inviting myself to breakfast, Lady Blake, but I have a passion for deviled kidneys, and Mrs. Perry does not seem able to provide them.”

“You are most welcome, sir,” she said, taking her seat. “Thank you, Seecombe.” The servant placed the coffee pot at her elbow. “Do you care for coffee, Lord Rutherford?”

“Thank you, ma'am, but no. This excellent ale will more than satisfy me.”

“Only think, Merrie!” Rob was bouncing in his seat. “Lord Rutherford has come to invite us all to a picnic. He says we will take horses and a big hamper and go to Yellan Falls.”

“That is most kind of Lord Rutherford,” Merrie responded. “I am sure you will have a most enjoyable day.”

“The invitation included you.” Damian sat back in the carved oak chair at the table's head, one leg crossed negligently over the other, regarding her steadily.

“I fear I do not have the time for pleasure excursions, sir. I must ride into Fowey after breakfast.”

“Then perhaps we should turn a business excursion into a pleasure trip,” he said smoothly. “I passed through Fowey on my way to Landreth and it seemed an agreeable enough town. I am sure the inn can provide us with a tolerable meal. While you conduct your business, perhaps Rob and Theo, Hugo, too, if he can spare the time, will show me the sights.”

“That is a capital idea, sir.” Theo sprang to his feet. “We have not been to Fowey this holiday. Shall we ride, Merrie, or take the gig?”

Rob was cavorting around the parlor in a state of high excitement, and even Hugo's expression had lightened at the prospect of the treat. Merrie knew she could not disappoint them without good reason, and the only reason she had, while it was sufficient, was not one she could reveal to her brothers. The dawn resolution would have to be put into effect another time unless she was afforded the opportunity to be alone with Rutherford during the day and could inform him of her decision.

The sight of the four Trelawneys and Lord Rutherford taking the Fowey road on this Monday morning at the end of July caused some considerable interest. Lady Collier, giving instruction to her gardener pruning the climbing rose around the garden gate, saw them first. The cavalcade politely drew rein so that greetings could be exchanged. Once they were on their way again, Lady Collier hastened indoors to change her dress and give orders for the barouche to be brought around. It would be most diverting to be, for once, ahead of Patience Barrat with such a tidbit. While there could be nothing improper exactly about Meredith's riding with Lord Rutherford in the company of her brothers, it was a most singular circumstance. The little widow was hardly known for her extrovert nature.

If Meredith had expected any special attention, any speaking looks from soulful eyes, she was disappointed. Lord Rutherford rode alongside her, talking the merest commonplace when he was not engaged with one of the others. There was not even opportunity to exhibit a frosty withdrawal since there was nothing from which to withdraw. He was behaving as if last night had never happened, as if he had never said the things he had said, and Meredith could almost believe that she had imagined the whole. Except for the curious, inconvenient sense of excitement she felt in his proximity, the way her eyes kept sliding to his hands, remembering the way they had felt as he held her, and then she would see his mouth, smiling, and her lips tingled with memory.

They reached Fowey just before noon. The town, at the head of the Fowey river, gleamed in whitewashed freshness, bustling with noise and life. “Which inn do you recommend, ma'am?” Rutherford turned to his companion with a polite smile.

“The Royal is more accustomed to Quality than the Eagle and Child,” she replied, “but I dare swear neither will provide what you are accustomed to.”

“I think I told you once before that my tastes are not overly refined,” he responded evenly. “I will bespeak a parlor and nuncheon at the Royal. You will join us there when your business is completed.”

“I should not be above half an hour with Mr. Donne.” Merrie, to her annoyance, found herself offering a conciliatory smile.

In return, his lordship leaned over to give her cheek a careless pat. “I shall await your return most eagerly.” His eyes twinkled conspiratorially and Meredith could not help but respond. Mumbling something incoherently, she directed her mare across the street to the lawyer's office. Mr. Donne's clerk bellowed for an apprentice, who appeared and held Lady Blake's horse while the clerk ushered the client into the lawyer's sanctum.

“Ah, Lady Blake, good morning.” Mr. Donne was a jovial man with the portly belly and ruddy complexion of one who enjoyed the good things of life. “It is always such a pleasure to see you.”

Meredith greeted him with genuine warmth. The lawyer had stood her friend in the years since her husband's death, negotiating the redemption of the estate with the utmost discretion, never once questioning her as to how she achieved the miracles. He had also offered sound advice as to which portions of the estate she would do well to buy back as priorities, treating his female client with all the deference he would have accorded her husband. More, in fact, as he was in the habit of telling Mrs. Donne, since her ladyship had a shrewd head on her shoulders and a tight hand to the purse strings, unlike the profligate Sir John.

Now, he waved her ladyship to a chair with an expansive hand and offered sherry. Meredith accepted both, then came straight to the point. “I had hoped to be in a position to redeem Ducket's Spinney this morning, Mr. Donne, but, unfortunately, there are other claims on the money.”

The lawyer shook his head. “That is a pity. I have the papers ready for you since you had said it would be your intention.”

“Next month,” she said with confidence. “For the moment, I have half of the sum.” Reaching into the deep pocket of her riding habit, she drew out a leather pouch, laid a fold of bills on the desk. “I realize that the bank will not deal piecemeal, but I would be glad if you would keep this until I may lay hands on the rest.”

“May I make a suggestion?” The lawyer crossed his hands over an ample paunch and, when she inclined her head in agreement, went on. “The interest payment falls due next month on the substantial loan Sir John took out just before his death. Were you to use this sum to pay the interest ahead of time, you would save a month of six percent.” His head nodded sagaciously. “The money would be better employed in that manner, d'ye not think, Lady Blake?”

She sighed. “You are right, of course. It is just that I hate to send good money after bad. Without those interest payments, I would have Pendennis free and clear by now.”

“Why do you not pay off the loan first, then? The mortgages will hold.” He looked at her with shrewd sympathy. The suggestion had been made before, but Meredith had needed the concrete satisfaction of gaining back the land, and he had understood her need.

“It will take at least a year. Five thousand pounds is no trifle. There remains only Ducket's Spinney and the Lower Forty. I must have those first, Mr. Donne.”

“It is, of course, for you to decide.” Taking the bills, he went over to the iron safe in the corner of the room. “I shall keep these for you until next month.”

“No.” Merrie stood up, drawing on her riding gloves. “Pay the interest on the loan, if you please. I shall hope to have sufficient for the spinney next month.”

“Your husbandry is most amazing,” he observed.

“Yes,” Meredith agreed calmly. “It is extraordinary what one can do if one counts the pennies.”

“Just so, my lady.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, seemed about to say something further, but, when she moved toward the door, made haste to accompany her out to the street where the apprentice assisted her to mount.

“Good day, Mr. Donne. I thank you again for your trouble.” She leant down to give him her hand. The lawyer reached up to grasp it firmly.

“My pleasure, your ladyship.”

Mr. Donne watched the horse and rider down the street, still stroking his chin. Lady Blake had some other source of income, of that he was convinced. All the penny counting in the world could not achieve the sums she had laid out in the last two and a half years. But some inner voice of caution told him to keep this surmise to himself, even from his dear wife who would find it most fascinating. Shaking his head, he returned to his office for his coat. It was time he went upstairs in search of the midday meal that that excellent lady would have waiting for him.

Merrie made her way to the Royal feeling a stab of unease at the latter part of her exchange with the lawyer. He was obviously aware that simple economy could not achieve the sums she brought in, but he had never commented on it before, never looked so thoughtful. It was not as if he could guess the truth in a millennium, but, if he shared his thoughts, speculation would be rife in Fowey, and it would not be long before it reached Landreth. Merrie had been aware of the risk since the beginning, but she had had to have an agent in the business, and she trusted the lawyer who had never been less than honest and sympathetic about her financial situation. What would he think when she came up with twice as much money in the future? She would not be able to do so, Merrie decided reluctantly. She could not escalate the redemption without legitimate questions from the lawyer. In spite of her natural impatience, she would have to proceed with caution.

She was still frowning, however, as she left the mare in the yard of the Royal and went into the inn. “Lady Blake.” The landlord bowed low, rubbing pudgy hands together, expressive of some degree of contentment. “His lordship awaits you in the parlor above stairs.”