The Bride Insists (5 page)

Jamie blinked as the young woman before him seemed to spring to life. Color tinged her cheeks; emotion warmed her gaze. Far from cold, he thought. He smiled back.

The dazzle of white teeth against tanned skin made Clare's pulse jump. His answering smile felt like a hand reaching out to draw her close. Which was nonsense. Lord Trehearth simply… He must see the humor in their situation, as did she. It was an immensely comforting idea. Clare took a breath. There was no point in trivial chitchat. She should simply plunge in.

“So you vouch for Lord Trehearth's good character?” Selina demanded quietly across the room. She had made what inquiries she could as soon as Billingsley had given Clare the young man's name. But Selina's close acquaintances did not stretch into the upper reaches of society, and the elderly ladies she felt able to consult had said merely that the Trehearth family was “all to pieces,” which she already knew. Why else were they here?

“He's a fine lad,” Billingsley assured her. “He has a bit of a wild streak, but I've heard that females find that attractive.”

“Wild? In what sense? Is he a libertine? A gamester?” Selina's worst fears rose to haunt her.

“No, no. Of course not.” Billingsley tore his attention from the young people. Distracted, he'd let his tongue run away with him. “I should never have brought him here if he had such grievous faults. He simply enjoys a bit of fun.”

“What sort of fun?”

Billingsley shifted nervously on the sofa cushion. What was he doing? His information was all rumors, after all. “The sort any wellborn young gentleman enjoys. Convivial evenings with his friends…”

“He is a drunkard?”

“My dear Mrs. Newton…!” Billingsley found he was sweating under her interrogation. “Nothing of the kind.”

Selina frowned suspiciously at the darkly handsome young man on the other side of the parlor.

Clare cleared her throat and once again urged herself onward. “I… ah… I imagine Mr. Billingsley told you that I worked as a governess for several years, due to… family circumstances.” Billingsley had given her some basic information about the man she was to meet, and she supposed he had done the same for Lord Trehearth. But facts told one only so much. “I don't know if you realize what that means. I went from a luxurious, carefree childhood to being a sort of upper servant.” This was coming out with more emotion than she'd planned. Clare's flush deepened. It was unsettling to reveal private matters to a stranger, and a man, but she felt the situation must be laid out between them. “Now, I have come into this money, but it is tied up in a trust partly controlled by a cousin who…” She wasn't going into that. Tales of her sadly broken family could await a closer acquaintance, if that developed. Clare leaned forward. “The point is, after six years of humbly taking orders, I cannot bear to lose control of this inheritance that has unexpectedly come my way!”

Her story, and her vehemence, struck a chord in Jamie. The painful decline in his prospects, year after year, had been beyond his control, no matter how hard he tried to mend things.

Embarrassed by the strength of her outburst, Clare started to speak.

“It's maddening,” said Jamie. “To feel your whole life is at the mercy of those who care very little about you, who scarcely see you as an individual, in fact.”

Clare's lips parted in wonderment at his ready understanding. “Yes, that is it, precisely.”

“I tried very hard to initiate improvements on my estates. I've proposed various plans, at one time or another, to increase yields and allow me to gradually pay off the mortgages. But the bankers only pretended to listen, and then dismissed every idea I suggested, because they each required some fresh investment.”

Just as Simon treated her wishes, Clare thought. Except he didn't even pretend to listen. “Tell me about your land.”

Jamie sat back. His far-off acres rose in his mind—the towering sea cliffs and the pastures and fields that rolled away inland. He knew and loved every inch of it. He hardly knew where to begin a description.

“Is he a kind man?” Selina asked Everett Billingsley. “Does he treat members of his family well?”

There was a small quibble here, though a young man could hardly be blamed… “Lord Trehearth's parents are both deceased,” Billingsley hedged.

“Has he no other family?”

“No aunts and uncles. Some distant cousins, perhaps. Sadly, the Trehearths have dwindled in this century. They have a long, proud heritage, you know. Lord Trehearth can trace his line back to the Normans.”

Sensing something unspoken, Selina frowned again.

Jamie let out a sigh and said, “Trehearth is in Cornwall, about a half day's journey south of Penzance. The land has been in my family for centuries. It's beautiful country and full of promise if properly tended. Wild as a stormy ocean and soft as a spring mist.”

A lilt came into his voice as he spoke of it, and the sense of barely restrained impatience that hung about him eased. Clare liked this side of him. “It sounds lovely. I grew up in the country.”

She was thinking of the gentle countryside of the home counties, Jamie knew. He wondered if she really understood how far from London Trehearth lay. It was almost like another country; that was one of the things he loved about it. He had a momentary impulse to explain, but he hesitated. With a twinge of discomfort, he held back. He was not here to discourage her from funneling some of her fortune into his lands.

Clare decided she liked him enough to take this discussion a step further, into delicate territory. “You've come here today. I assume this means that you… feel you could allow a… a wife to take charge of the family's money?”

What was he to say to this? That he found the idea unnatural and humiliating, but would accept almost any conditions to save his heritage? Obviously not. When he'd thought about the condition in the days leading up to this encounter, it had seemed to him that a woman would soon tire of the details of business, become immersed in her household and children, and gratefully relinquish the reins. But this was clearly not the thing to say now either. Though Jamie was certain that carrying out such a scheme was not going to be as simple as she seemed to believe, in the end, he settled for a clipped, “Yes. With certain conditions.”

Clare nodded. Naturally there were specifics to be discussed in this unconventional arrangement. She would not have trusted a man who grabbed too readily at her offer. But she found she was ready to move forward. The admirable Billingsley had found her a sensible man, amenable to reason, able to set aside common masculine sensitivities. She smiled again and felt that inner flutter when he responded. The fact that he was very attractive was a bonus, though irrelevant, of course. It would not affect the settlement between them. “Then I am willing to sit down together and set out our terms.” It was such an arid way to describe a marriage. Was she making a mistake? “If you need some time to think about whether…”

“I also am prepared to do that,” he put in. She was lovely, really, with that sense of a banked fire beneath her cool exterior. Once he'd ignited those fires—and there was a task to be anticipated—she'd want nothing more than for him to take charge. It was the way of things, after all. “We can pass along our thoughts to Billingsley and let him draft the papers. He has suggested that a neutral solicitor review the final…”

“No, we should talk face to face about each point. In order to be very clear. I have a list.” She would show him just how practical and organized a woman could be. He need have no fears that she would be a poor manager.

Jamie suppressed a spurt of annoyance. This scheme of hers was going to tax his patience, of which he knew he had no great store. But she would soon abandon it, he assured himself. He need do no more than what came naturally. “I, of course, require an heir,” he said, meeting those amazing green eyes with desire simmering in his own. Clare's pale skin went scarlet. Yes, Jamie thought, it was all going to work out, in time.

Seeing her young friend's flush, Selina rose to intervene. “You have absolutely no doubts about the wisdom of your recommendation?” she asked Billingsley, her voice full of challenge.

Was
there
any
transaction
that
engendered
no
doubts
at
all?
he wondered. Certainty was a rare commodity in this world. “Lord Trehearth is an honorable man,” he answered. And with this Selina had to be satisfied.

Miss Clare Greenough and James Boleigh, Baron Trehearth, were married two weeks later by special license, on a chill February morning in the parish church nearest the hotel. Neither had any family members present. Jamie was supported by his two best friends, and Clare by Selina Newton. Everett Billingsley was also invited, to see the fruition of the match he had set in motion. The notice in the
Morning
Post
informed interested readers that the couple was leaving for Cornwall directly after the wedding. Since most prominent members of society resided in the country at this time of year, the news was not much marked.

The notice did not mention that the bride's companion was accompanying the newly wed couple on their western journey. The desire for Selina's company had washed over Clare as she sat in Billingsley's office, across the table from her proposed husband, discussing their future in terms of contractual guarantees and schedules of payment. She'd met his terms, signing documents to redeem mortgages and designate funds to restore the Trehearth estate, as he had accepted hers. And from time to time, she'd felt as if she were facing an adversary rather than a prospective partner. The language of legal documents seemed to foster that attitude. So even as Clare told herself that she was satisfied, delighted even, to have placed her inheritance safely under her own control, she found she didn't want to set off on a long journey alone, to a strange place, with a husband she barely knew.

Selina, sitting next to Clare in the luxurious post chaise, stretching stiff muscles and feeling her age a bit, knew that she could never have resisted Clare's request to stay on. Even though Clare had bought the promised annuity, granting Selina her independence, the bonds of friendship still held sway. But at times Selina wondered if she was a help or a hindrance on the journey. With Selina in the coach, Lord Trehearth was free to ride much of the way, rather than attend his bride. The two were not becoming better acquainted on this journey, as they should have been. They would arrive as they had set out—strangers. And the young man had made no objection to this arrangement. Selina fidgeted in her seat and wished that the roads were better. The bouncing of the chaise made handwork impossible and reading a queasy proposition. There was little to do but worry about the exact nature of her responsibilities. Years of fetching misplaced lornettes, coddling irritable pugs, and patiently listening to the querulous complaints of elderly women had not prepared Selina to counsel newlyweds. Particularly those who had entered into such a very odd match.

Selina gripped the leather strap above the window as they jounced over an especially deep set of ruts. A busy coaching inn was a poor spot for a wedding night, she told herself. A jolting carriage and broken sleep in lumpy beds promoted short tempers and potential regrets. The pair would grow closer as they made a home together. Clare would need her less and less. When her young friend was well settled in her new house, with her new husband, Selina could depart to establish a peaceful and ordered life for herself.

Pulling the coach blankets closer around her chilled feet, Selina leaned back and allowed herself the luxury of imagining a secure future. She was thinking of Bath as a place to settle. Society there was more welcoming for a mature single woman, and yet not so stuffy as Harrowgate or Wells. She would be able to afford comfortable rooms, with books and perhaps even a pianoforte, and a servant or two. She would make friends with other women in a similar position, interest herself in a local church and charities. She knew that her new income, though small by the world's standards, would allow her the satisfaction of helping others while she enjoyed herself. A calm and soothing daily routine unfolded before her mind's eye and made her smile as the carriage swayed through a turn onto an even poorer road. It would not be long, really, before she was snugly installed in the placid life of her imaginings.

Despite the icy winds and stretches of half-frozen mud that dragged at the coach wheels and slowed them down, Jamie was conscious only of a rising elation as they traveled farther away from London. This journey home was different from all others; this time he was returning to renew his land rather than mourn its decline. The fatigue of hours in the saddle scarcely touched him. Noting landmarks he'd passed countless times before, he thought of the tenants and dependents who would share his joy at this unanticipated redemption, and he was borne up by a heady mixture of pride and relief and eagerness. He could let go of the nagging guilt over those he'd neglected. He truly could, he thought, dismissing the familiar twinges.

This ferment left little room for thoughts of his new wife, for now simply a means to a much desired end. When he could spare any attention for Clare, he was merely glad she had a companion to keep her occupied. And on the final stage of their journey, with home tantalizingly close, he couldn't resist leaving the laboring post chaise behind and riding on to Trehearth.

***

A full hour later, Clare climbed stiffly down from the carriage and gazed up at the massive gray pile that was now her home. The long stone facade, with two wings thrusting forward on either side to form a courtyard, looked like something out of a fairy tale. There were steep slate gables and arched windows and crenellations. The scudding clouds on this chilly afternoon added to the impression. She knew that Lord…

Jamie. He'd said that his friends called him Jamie, and that she should do so. It still felt awkward, which brought up uncomfortable thoughts such as—was she his friend? She was undoubtedly his wife. The ring on her finger was a constant reminder. But that did not necessarily equate with friendship.

Clare rotated her tight shoulders and looked up the sprawling house. There seemed to be no one about to welcome her. She knew that Jamie's grandfather had built this place on the site of a ruined castle, using the fallen stones, so it dated only from 1770. It stood on a sheer cliff above a cove formed by a small Cornish river. There was a fishing village below, she remembered. Jamie had said that his grandfather designed the house, too. With only limited success, Clare had to say, surveying the mishmash of styles that ran into one another along the frontage. His obsession with construction had nearly bankrupted the estate. That was why the place looked unkempt and shabby. It was, in a way, the reason she was here. Standing in the gravel courtyard, in the cold, alone. Where was Jamie?

“Well,” said Selina, who had stepped down beside her. “Where is Lord Trehearth? Where are the servants? This is outrageous. To ride off like that with scarcely a word, and now no sign of a…”

The great wooden front door opened, and two small figures scurried out—boys of ten or so in white shirts and buckskin breeches above thick woolen hose. Or… Clare took in the long tangled black hair, big dark eyes, and delicate features. They weren't boys; they were girls, twins obviously. Why were they so oddly dressed? She took a step forward to greet them. Something moved in the dim doorway, and then shot out between the children and hurtled toward her.

In the next instant, Clare was flattened by a gigantic dog. It stood over her, feet planted on either side of her torso, and began to lick her face with a slavering red tongue. She pushed at its chest; it was immovable.

For a moment, Selina stood frozen, terrified by the largest canine she'd ever seen. Then she recovered and rushed over; she spied a collar around the creature's neck and grasped it. But her tugging had no effect. She might have been trying to shift a horse. The two scandalously dressed children had come closer. “Is this your dog?” Selina panted. “Remove him immediately.”

“He likes you,” said one, gazing down at Clare as she continued to try to fend off the beast's attentions. Her hands were now dripping with saliva.

“His name is Randolph,” added the other.

“He's half wolfhound and half mastiff.”

“The vicar's dog got into Mr. Fox's kennel.”

“He was hopping mad,” said the other twin, with sparkling eyes.

“Randolph was the only puppy in the litter. Mr. Fox was going to drown him!” Their dialogue was sending Selina's head back and forth like a pendulum.

“But we came to the rescue.”

“We don't care if he's a mongol.”

“Mongrel,” corrected the other twin.

“Call him off!” Selina commanded.

The doorway erupted. Jamie ran out, followed by an older couple, the woman's hands flapping in dismay. Pushing Selina aside, Jamie grabbed the dog's collar and yanked him off. “Take him away,” he told the twins as he helped Clare to her feet.

Her face was dripping stickily. Her clothes were marked with muddy paw prints. She had no doubt that her bonnet was ruined.
May
I
present
the
new
mistress
of
your
household
, she said silently, wondering whether to laugh or break down in hysterics.

The twins made no move to control the dog, who frisked about the group as if he'd done just as he ought. They were observing the scene like a scientific experiment.

“These are my sisters,” Jamie said.

Startled, Clare met his dark eyes. “Sisters?”

Except for the capering dog, the scene froze as it became obvious to all present that this piece of information was wholly new to her. Faces exhibited a range of reactions, from Selina's astonished disapproval to the older couple's quickly stifled worry to the twins' resigned grimaces. Jamie had the grace to look shame-faced.

“I'm Tamsyn,” said one twin then.

“I'm Tegan,” chimed in the other. “It means ‘pretty little thing' in Cornish.” The girl smirked up at the adults.

Jamie put his hands firmly on the second girl's shoulders. “
Tamsyn
has a small mole on her neck,” he said, his jaw tight.

Clare saw the tiny mark that identified the child. They'd been trying a trick that their brother clearly recognized.

Jamie moved to his other maddening sister and set warning hands on her shoulders. “
Tegan
is just a hair shorter.”

Clare could see it if she looked carefully.

“It is quite
easy
to tell them apart,” Jamie finished.
Except
that
they
are
both
imps
of
Satan
, he added to himself. He'd written them with news of the wedding. He'd commanded them to be on their best behavior when they welcomed a new sister-in-law to Trehearth. He'd hoped to present them in a proper state. Of course it had been a forlorn hope that they would put on suitable gowns, which they certainly possessed, and pretend, at least, to be civilized. Allow Clare to believe, however briefly, that they were not going to be a plague on her existence. But as always, they'd ignored him. Or, no. Devil take it—this
was
their best behavior. They had no more manners than a pair of feral cats.

A familiar guilt mingled with his anger. Was it any wonder that he hadn't found an… opportunity to talk to Clare about them? They made it so difficult. But their lapses weren't his fault. What did he know of rearing young ladies? How could he have been expected to do any sort of job of it with not a penny to spare? Now, though, he would have to endure another lecture about his failures. His sisters should be at school; they should have a governess. Did people really think he was so stupid as not to have tried these things? Could they even imagine the disasters that had ensued?

The dog came over to fawn at Selina's feet. She backed away. The animal was buff colored, with floppy, darker brown ears and diamond-shaped black patches around his eyes that gave him the look of a mournful harlequin. He panted winsomely. She glared at him to indicate that she was not charmed, then shifted her icy gaze to Lord Trehearth. His conduct was also beyond the pale. “Perhaps we go should inside?” Selina suggested acidly.

Galvanized, Jamie offered Clare his arm and escorted her across the gravel courtyard, up the two stone steps, and through the heavy wooden door into the great hall. The others trailed after them and reassembled in the large space. “May I present Mr. and Mrs. Pendennis,” Jamie said, indicating the older couple. “John and Anna. They are the mainstays of the household. They've been here since I was a child, and they take care of the place and… my sisters.”

“As well as we can,” said the old woman darkly.

Clare realized that the twins had not come in with them. Nor had the dog, she was glad to see. She liked dogs, but those she'd lived with had been well-trained animals.

“They've stayed on through thick and thin,” Jamie added. He tried to convey in his tone that the Pendennises were more than servants to him. “John, Anna, this is Lady Trehearth, and her friend Mrs. Selina Newton.”

Rallying all her faculties, Clare smiled at the old couple. They looked rather alike, both short and broad, with round faces, the gnarled hands of hard workers, white hair, and bright blue eyes. “I'm very pleased to meet you,” she said.

“I tied up that fool dog in the stables,” said John Pendennis. Like his wife, he spoke in the accent of the West Country.

“I've no doubt of it,” replied Jamie. He wondered how his sisters had arranged for Randolph to focus his uncouth attentions on Clare. They hadn't, he concluded. The lumbering creature was oblivious to commands. It had been sheer bad luck.

Further gathering her composure, Clare looked around the large room that formed the entry of the house. It was not a comfortable sort of chamber. Two stories of dark wood paneling soared up to a row of high windows overlooking the courtyard. Dusty banners hung from the great beams that crossed the white plaster ceiling. The planked floor, stretching out to a huge stone fireplace on the inner side, was nearly empty. The lone table looked tiny and out of place. The space was clearly a nod to the castle that had once stood here, and not a chamber to really live in. Without meaning to, she sighed.