The Bride Insists (13 page)

“What are the neighbors saying about us?” Clare wondered at the same moment.

Carew addressed Selina first. “I would never break a confidence, or repeat a malicious rumor, or feed a feud. But the free flow of information can knit up bonds in a community.” He waited until Selina gave a grudging nod, then turned to Clare. “Everyone has concluded that Lord Trehearth indeed married an heiress. The hiring of staff, the purchases, you see.”

Clare said nothing, knowing her silence would be taken for confirmation.

“The village is delighted to have the house… open again. And the tenants about the repairs being put in train, of course. The prominent families are reserving judgment.”

“Judgment of what?” Selina at once felt protective of her friend.

The vicar paused to find the right phrases. “I have lived here only a few years. As I understand it, Lord Trehearth has never made any effort to know his neighbors. He was either in London or here but not… available. He paid no calls, extended no invitations.” Carew gave an apologetic shrug. “He did not even attend church and make himself visible there. Some of the high sticklers disapprove of his manners. A few of the landowners grumble that he let the estate go to rack and ruin.”

“That was not his fault!” Clare exclaimed. What had they expected he could do with every cent tied up in mortgages?

“Indeed. His predicament was… known. Yet it did not prevent him from observing the social niceties with men like Sir Harold Halcombe.”

Clare could not argue with this, but neither would she acknowledge criticisms of her husband. Resolutely, she shifted the subject. “I thought I might invite the Palgrove children to visit,” Clare tried. “And their mother, of course.”

“Lord Trehearth must call on Sir Harold, Mr. Palgrove, and Mr. Fox before anything else. There's no way around that,” Carew replied. “And I'm not sure the twins would make good playmates for Margaret Palgrove. Arthur, now…” He smiled. “That lad could be led into six kinds of mischief with no effort at all.”

As if to underline this danger, a clatter erupted in the hall outside the solar, followed by a thud. Clare rose at once and went to find the source. In the corridor, Randolph stood over the youngest housemaid, a tiny girl who had barely learned her way about the big house. Clearly, he had just greeted her as he did Clare when she first arrived. The girl lay on the floor fending off slurps of the huge dog's tongue with both hands. Soapy water from a dropped bucket spread around them in a widening puddle. Clare turned back to the solar. “It's all right,” she called. “A small mishap.” Sympathetic as the vicar was, she didn't want him to see the still-chaotic state of her household. Moving closer to the scene of the melee, she grabbed Randolph's collar and yanked. “Off,” she commanded.

He'd gotten to know her well enough by this time to obey. As Clare half dragged him toward the front door, she told the maid to fetch more rags and mop up the water. When the girl apologized, Clare shook her head. “It wasn't your fault, Maggie. His lordship has to do something about this dog.”

In the solar, Selina took the hint in the tone of Clare's voice and sat on to keep Reverend Carew occupied. She also had a scheme in mind. “As you make your ‘pastoral rounds,' you might pass along some items of news about
this
household.”

Carew nodded as if to ask, What would you like me to say?

With that, Selina understood that Reverend Carew was offering to help the new residents of Trehearth get established in the neighborhood. He could do much to prepare the ground for cordial relations. Selina began to feel more in charity with the man. What should she tell him?

There was no harm in mentioning the near ruin of the estate, Selina thought. That was clear to everyone in the area already. The story of Clare's marriage, however, required careful editing. The gossips would require some plausible story; they would not get the full tale. In the end, she simply said that the two had met in London and been taken with each other. It was the truth. She'd seen it happen. Clare's significant inheritance from a great-uncle required no further explanation. And the details were no one's business.

Watching Mrs. Newton think and speak so carefully, Edward Carew admired the depth of her concern for her friends. He also couldn't help noticing how very attractive that care made her.

The talk might have been awkward, yet somehow it wasn't. In fact, Selina felt a fleeting sense of déjà vu, as if she'd sat with this man on many other occasions, relaxed and companionable. The feeling was so odd that she had to question. “You're being very kind about…” What was the word she wanted? “Cushioning the Trehearths' arrival in the area. Why?”

“Christian charity,” Reverend Carew replied immediately.

When Selina raised her eyebrows, he smiled. It lit his blue eyes and gave his narrow face an exceedingly pleasant look.

“You do not believe in Christian charity?” he wondered, in response to her expression.

“Most assuredly I do. I try to practice it at every opportunity.”

“There, you see. And I am a vicar.” His tone was lightly teasing.

“So you are.” Selina had to smile back. “One who likes harmony in his parish, I suspect. And does his best to discourage bad feelings and… casual malice.”

Carew laughed. “You've caught me. I admit I'd rather preside over a wedding than settle a quarrel. I prefer celebration to mediation.”

“Most understandable.” Their gazes held in a moment of perfect amity.

“Are you a relation of Lady Trehearth's?”

Selina appreciated the delicate way of asking why she was here with a pair of young newlyweds. “No. Just a friend. She was moving a long way from home and wished for—”

“An anchor and a support,” said Carew, before she could find the end of her sentence. “And I believe she chose well.”

To her own surprise, Selina flushed. It had been many years since she received a compliment.

“But you have no family obligations of your own to call you away?” Carew wondered, finding he was very interested in the answer.

“No, I am a widow with no… obligations.”

“Ah. I have lost a spouse. I know how very difficult it is.”

Seeing a shadow of grief in his eyes, Selina did not say that in her case the difficulties had been almost entirely financial.

Carew rose to depart, and Selina stood. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

“It was my pleasure,” he answered. “I'm always grateful when my duty is so enjoyable.”

His tone was level and sincere, not at all as if he were flirting. Of course he wasn't, Selina told herself. The idea was ridiculous. Where on earth had it come from? The vicar offered a small bow and went out. Several minutes passed before Selina shook herself out of a brown study and returned to her work in the sewing room.

Randolph and the twins were out in the courtyard when Jamie returned to the house around four o'clock. The dog raced and leapt like a creature let out of confinement, his buff fur pale against the gray stone of the walls. Jamie nearly walked by them with a simple nod. Then he remembered what Clare had said about training the dog. It was ridiculous, of course. The huge mutt was intractable. But she'd made such a point of it. If it could be done… With a sigh he changed direction and headed toward the group. He saw his sisters brace for a scolding. Did he never speak to them except to complain? That couldn't be.

“We always play here,” said Tamsyn before he uttered a word.

“Randolph doesn't dig,” Tegan added.

Jamie looked at the overgrown flowerbeds, the weed-infested gravel of the drive. What harm could the dog do in this wasteland? He needed to find a real gardener, not just some village lads. “Nice spot,” he lied.

The siblings eyed each other warily. Jamie searched for words and finally settled on the stark truth: “Clare said you wanted to train the dog.”

“He is trained,” Tegan objected.

“He does what we want,” Tamsyn agreed.

“Like knock people to the ground?”

For some reason, his sisters gaped at him. “How did you…?” Tamsyn poked Tegan with an elbow to cut her off, then they both quickly looked away. Long experience told Jamie that some new outrage had occurred, but he decided not to ask.

“That was a…” Tegan began, eyes fixed on the ground.

“A lapse, an accident? I hope you're not going to tell me that Randolph was doing what you wanted when he jumped on Clare?” Accusation had crept into his tone. He was so often called upon to correct them, Jamie told himself. He couldn't be blamed for the habits they'd created by their pranks.

“No!”

“He was just excited,” Tegan supplied. “No one ever comes here.”

“Came,” corrected Tamsyn.

“Well, they do now. So Randolph will have to learn to behave.” At this moment, the dog was rolling ecstatically in a drift of dead leaves. His wriggles scattered them onto the drive. Jamie hoped they weren't imbued with some enticing, disgusting smell.

“What if he doesn't?” Tegan glared up at him. “If you send him away, we'll go with him!”

An irritated reply rose to Jamie's lips. Just before it escaped, he felt a tugging at his coat and looked down into Tamsyn's dark eyes, so like his own. They pleaded with him. “How do you train a dog?” she asked.

Randolph rolled to his feet and shook himself, dry leaves flying. Spotting Jamie, he loped over, pink tongue lolling, and gathered himself for a flying leap. “No!” Jamie said. The sharp sound checked the dog momentarily. Jamie took the further precaution of stepping forward and grasping the loose fur at the back of his neck. Randolph gazed happily up at him. With his black nose and the dark diamond-shaped patches of fur around his eyes, the animal looked deceptively mournful. In fact, he was perhaps the least mournful creature Jamie had ever encountered. “You must let a dog know that you are his master,” he said.

“We will
never
beat him,” said Tegan fiercely.

She'd said that before, Jamie remembered. Did his sisters actually imagine that he would hit a dog? Randolph made a whuffing sound. Jamie risked releasing his grip. Randolph sat and looked up at him. That made three pairs of young eyes, fixed and waiting for him to make things right. “Of course not,” said Jamie uneasily. “There is no question of that.”

“So what do we
do
?” asked Tamsyn.

He marshaled his thoughts. It was only a dog after all. “Dogs want to please you. It is in their nature.”

The twins glanced at each other. They seemed torn between liking the idea of being pleased and mistrusting the thought of such a pliant creature.

“You need a way to communicate clearly what you require of him,” Jamie continued.

“We already communicate,” said Tegan.

“He understands us when we speak to him, don't you, Randolph?” Tamsyn rubbed the dog's brown ears. His pink tongue slurped her face from chin to forehead, and she laughed.

“Then you are telling him the wrong things,” responded Jamie automatically, even as he was wondering when he'd last heard one of his sisters laugh so freely. “If he is to join in polite society—”

“He doesn't want to be a member of polite society!” Tegan interrupted passionately. “He despises it! He hates all the stupid rules and the—”

“He wants to live in the house,” Tamsyn interrupted, eyes on her twin. “With the new maids… and all.”

Jamie watched as Tegan grappled with her temper. The battle was obvious in her snapping dark eyes, tight mouth, and clenched fists. He had to admire the way she pushed down her anger. He'd had no notion that the twins were capable of such self-control.

Randolph danced between them. Jamie set a hand on his back to still his capering. “Let's see what we can do. Randolph, sit!” He pushed the huge dog's hindquarters down to the earth, not an easy task. He had to squat to manage it. “Good dog! Well done,” he said when Randolph was sitting. The dog sprang up, tail whipping, ready to lick any part of Jamie he could reach. Jamie gripped his jaws and held him still for a long moment. Then he repeated the whole process. “You must show him what you want him to do as you utter a command,” Jamie explained. “Then he will associate the word with the action. Afterward, you praise him, so that he sees you are pleased by what he has done.”

When he'd demonstrated the exercise several more times, he had his sisters try. Surprisingly, they were able to push the huge dog down to sit. Randolph was actually beginning to get the point. After a few more repetitions, feeling that he'd done enough for now, and urging them to keep practicing, Jamie went indoors.

Clare greeted him in the hall, her smile enough to warm a man right through. “I saw you out the window,” she said. “It… seemed to go well.” Moved that he had done as she asked, and still full of last night, she had to move closer, to touch his arm. He at once pulled her close. The kiss they shared sizzled along their nerves like heat lightning.

Clare drew back first. “Someone may come in.”

“And so?” But he let her go. In just a few hours, they'd be alone, upstairs. “I spoke to Jem Varryl. He knows all the livestock for miles around here. He thought he could put his hand on a pair of ponies for the twins.” Jamie had also asked about a mount for Clare, but he was saving that as a surprise.

He hadn't forgotten! “That's wonderful,” Clare said. “We won't mention it…”

“Until you make your bargains with them,” Jamie finished. “I got the message.”

“Will they be very costly?”

The question soured Jamie's mood slightly. The purchase of mounts was his realm, his decision. Clare had exhibited no particular knowledge of horseflesh. How would she even judge the wisdom of his choices if he presented the bills? Yes, he'd agreed on her right to ask, but it rankled. He said only, “Jem and I will get a good price.”

“Of course you will.” Clare smiled up at him again, seeing only his agreement with her ideas on how to influence the twins. She was so very grateful for their perfect accord.

When Jamie knocked at her bedroom door that night and came in to her, it seemed more than natural. It was as if they'd always been together. As they touched and kissed and the passion rose between them, Jamie felt sure that his wife would soon see that she wanted nothing more than to rely on him. He wanted to take care of her; it was the way it should be. He was designed by nature to make the decisions, control their joint resources. She would realize it, feel it, just as she responded so eagerly to his caresses, rose to the peak of desire under his hands.

Falling toward glorious release, Clare reveled in the knowledge that she had a lover who was also a partner. She'd been so very fortunate in her choice. How many husbands could allow their wives the scope she'd required? But then, how many husbands were like hers? Few. None. He was… Clare lost all coherent thought in a blaze of delicious sensation.

***

The new cook arrived three days later, taking that responsibility from the shoulders of a very grateful Anna Pendennis. The rest of the household was soon equally thankful, because Branwyn Telmore was an artist in the kitchen. It changed from a utilitarian room where tasks were doggedly performed into a creative and bustling place full of luscious smells. They added a young kitchen maid to help her and receive training that would take her far.

The sewing room housed a similar center of happy industry. Several village women, eager for the extra earnings, trekked up each day to work under Selina's supervision on new draperies, cushion covers, and clothing for the female part of the household. Within two weeks, Trehearth had become a different place altogether, Jamie marveled. Windows sparkled; color gradually bloomed in the furnishings. He returned from busy days on the land to a place rapidly becoming a haven of beauty and serenity and comfort. Even the incorrigible Randolph had started to make progress. Once the twins understood the training method, they took it up with great enthusiasm and surprising patience. Jamie was astonished by their focused determination. But all of that was as nothing to his nights! His nights with Clare were all that he'd ever imagined passion could offer. In a miraculously short time, his life had completely changed.

She'd changed, Clare thought, as she gazed at her reflection in the cheval glass set up in the sewing room. At first she couldn't decide just what it was. Then she realized that she looked happy. It had been years since she saw anything but resignation and endurance in the mirror.

Selina, moving around her with a pincushion fastened over her wrist, making small adjustments to the gown Clare was modeling, thought how much better her friend appeared now that she had filled out a bit, lost that overthin, pinched reticence. It seemed her doubts about this marriage had been misplaced. “There,” she said, pushing in a last pin. “What do you think?”

“It's wonderful.” Clare gazed at the sweep of emerald silk, one of the indulgences she'd allowed herself at the drapers. Selina had fashioned it into a glorious gown, with a scooped neck, small puffed sleeves, and a long, sleek fall of skirt. The vivid color made her eyes seem both deeper and brighter. It was an evening dress to rival any she'd seen on fashionable guests at her former employers'. Clare turned, and the silk belled out with a soft whisper. “Oh, Selina, it's gorgeous. You're a marvel!”

“It did come out very well,” the older woman acknowledged with satisfaction.

Clare had spied a small head peeking around the sewing room door. “Come in and tell me what you think… ah… Tamsyn.” She'd spotted the identifying mole just in time. Clare had noticed that despite the games they might play with newcomers, the twins did not actually like being confused with one another.

Slowly, the girl came into the room. She reached out—Selina had to restrain herself from asking if the child's hands were clean—and brushed the silk with her fingertips. “It's beautiful,” she said. The twins still insisted on breeches for daily wear, but Clare was confident that she could entice them, or wear them down, with the new garments Selina would produce. Tamsyn in particular had revealed a fondness for rich fabric.

Her confidence rose even higher that night when Jamie told her that his man had found two suitable ponies. “Sure-footed and gentle but not plodders,” he said.

“Shall I come and see them?” Clare asked. “What sort of price shall we offer?”

Jamie stiffened. It hadn't occurred to him to take her to see the animals. The presence of a lady would have made all concerned in the transaction uncomfortable. “I bought them,” he answered. “I thought you were eager to have mounts for my sisters.”

His clipped tone startled Clare. He looked annoyed. Why? She started to ask him, but then an inner voice suggested that she knew very little about horses. She wouldn't have been able to judge their quality. “Of course. I am. Where are they now?”

“Still at their original stables. I understood that you did not wish them to be brought here until you had spoken to Tamsyn and Tegan.” Jamie couldn't quite shake off the resentment her queries had roused.

“Exactly right.”

Clare smiled up at him, and Jamie's irritation dissolved. She was so very beautiful. There were moments, such as this one, when he couldn't believe his luck in having made her his wife.

***

The following afternoon the twins had fittings for some of their new dresses. Selina stood first one, then the other, on a small stool and walked around pinning in small alterations to the cut and fit. And first Tamsyn, then Tegan, wriggled and fidgeted through the session, the latter clearly teetering on the edge of rebellion. “You look so pretty in this primrose shade,” Selina tried. The child glared at her as if this was an insult, as if fine new gowns were a burden to be borne. It was on the tip of Selina's tongue to tell them how much she would have loved to have such a dress at their age, but she wasn't entirely a fool.

“You do indeed,” agreed Clare, who sat by the window, lending support for this ordeal.

“Who wants to be pretty?” Tegan retorted.

“What's the harm in it?” Clare said.

“Pretty girls are stupid ninnyhammers,” was the quick reply. Tegan stared at her sister, demanding support for her position.

“They are bird-witted,” agreed Tamsyn. But she didn't sound entirely convinced.

“And whining tattlers as well,” said her sister. “Oww!”

“You must stand still until I finish pinning.” She'd been rushing, Selina acknowledged silently. She was eager to complete this chore and get back to more pleasant sewing.

“Do you think I am a stupid ninnyhammer?” Clare asked, wondering just how the twins had formed their opinion of pretty girls.