The Bride Insists (6 page)

“It's been a tiring journey,” responded Jamie. “Anna will show you to your room.” And let him escape the complaints he imagined were waiting to burst out of Clare.

“While you are doing exactly what?” began Selina, her irritation breaking through in her tone.

“Thank you,” Clare interrupted. She was too tired to argue. And she longed to clean up before discussing why he hadn't mentioned sisters—and anything else he might have left out. She remembered that she was the hostess here. “And Selina's bedchamber as well, please.”

“I'll bring the luggage, milady,” said Mr. Pendennis, turning back to the door.

The two women followed Anna Pendennis up a carved wooden staircase and into a long corridor that looked far more modern than the entry. It was lined with closed doors. A threadbare carpet ran down its length, and there was dust visible on the empty candle sconces. “We've not enough hands to keep up such a big place,” said Mrs. Pendennis defensively.

“Of course not,” said Clare.

“Mrs. Newton is in here, milady.” The old woman went across to open a door to the left of the stair. “And you're along this way.” She moved in the opposite direction. At a wave from Selina indicating she was well, Clare went into a spacious bedroom at the back of the house. Here, too, the figured carpet and blue hangings were old and worn. A massive four-poster bed and wardrobe in dark wood contrasted with a newer dressing table and mirror. A bright fire warmed the space. Clare walked over to one of the two wide windows. The cliff fell away beneath her, yielding a vertiginous view of the tossing sea.

“Master's room is through there.” Mrs. Pendennis pointed to a connecting door in the right-hand wall. “John'll have your things up in a trice.”

“Thank you. Would it be possible to have a bath?” Clare thought longingly of hot water and scented soap and warm towels.

Anna Pendennis's wrinkled face creased further. “We have a tin tub the girls use in front of the kitchen fire. We could carry it up, perhaps.” Obviously trying to hide reluctance, she turned away. “I'll set the water on to heat.”

“No, that's all right,” replied Clare quickly. “Just a can of hot water will be fine.” Clearly relieved, the old woman nodded and went out. Nothing in this house had been updated since its construction, Clare reminded herself. But she could not stifle a sinking feeling when she confirmed her suspicion that a screen in the corner hid a chamber pot. The state of the place was daunting.

Still, it was pleasant to be alone for the first time in days. She took off her battered bonnet and stained cloak and went to hold chilled hands out to the fire. And in that moment of relaxation, without warning, the enormity of what she'd done hit her. She was hundreds of miles from anything familiar. She'd pledged her life to a man she hardly knew. She'd taken on a household that seemed in complete disarray, including two unexpected, and clearly eccentric, children. How could Jamie not have told her about them! Clare watched her extended hands begin to tremble in the warm firelight.

Heralded by a knock, her trunk and satchel arrived, and then a can of steaming water to be poured into the washbasin that also waited behind the screen. Declining Anna Pendennis's diffident offers of help, Clare undressed and had a thorough wash. She was worn out, she told herself. She hadn't slept well during the nights on the road. Things would look better after a real rest. Digging out a fresh nightgown, she climbed into the huge bed. It was surprisingly comfortable. The sheets were soft and clean and smelled of lavender. Clare crawled between them and was almost instantly asleep.

When Selina tapped on the door and looked in a bit later, she smiled to see Clare lying so peacefully. Gently closing the door, she went downstairs to warn the Pendennises not to disturb their mistress until she woke on her own. Clare needed rest. Selina knew from her own state how tired she must be. And any situation looked better after a good night's sleep. At least, so she hoped.

Some time later, Jamie knocked on the door between their bedchambers and, after waiting a moment, came in. He was braced to apologize for not mentioning his sisters, for their poor behavior and that of their wretched pet. He was ready to assure his irate wife that he had reprimanded the twins, and to escort her downstairs to a dinner he knew would be only tolerable. Anna Pendennis was admirable in so many ways, but she was not a good cook.

Jamie found Clare sound asleep, her face sweetly peaceful against the white of the pillow. The dancing firelight picked out stray gleams in her pale hair and washed her cheeks with color. But there were dark smudges under her eyes, and exhaustion showed in the depth of her slumber. The journey had been hard on her; he knew that. He'd pushed because he was so eager to be home and get to work; his heart thrilled every time he thought of what he could now do for his tenants and acres. Still, he shouldn't have left her to arrive alone. It had been rude at best and thoughtless at worse. He'd been ready for reproaches about that lapse, knowing he deserved them.

Standing there, watching the soft rise and fall of her breath, Jamie saw that his lapse went further. Clare was not a guest, come for a passing visit; she was his wife. She would be here, sleeping in this bed, walking the corridors of his house, for the rest of their lives. He was
obliged
to treat her with respect, even though he knew so little of her. Jamie was conscious of a twinge of resentment. The bond felt artificial, the woman in the bed a stranger. Was he to be forced… At once, he stiffened. It was thanks to her that he had his chance. He wouldn't shirk his duty, not like his father had. Quietly, he walked over and added wood to the dying fire. He drew the ancient curtains over the windows and stepped softly from the room.

Entering the dining room, Jamie received the reproaches he'd been expecting when Selina Newton waylaid him.

“Clare is asleep,” the older woman said. “I've ordered that she not be disturbed for dinner.” She waited a moment, then added, “I hope you know that her reception here was shameful.”

Jamie bristled at the word. He knew he was in the wrong, but her judgment seemed harsh. And he didn't see why she should be handing out reproaches in his household. “I realize I should not have ridden ahead,” he answered stiffly.

“Indeed.” Selina eyed the man who had pledged to honor and keep her young friend. Handsome, yes. Spirited and capable of charm, no doubt. A dangerous spark in his dark eyes at being chided. None of that mattered to her. He needed to learn that this was no way to treat his wife.

“You have my apologies for the poor greeting,” Jamie managed.

“You need to apologize to
Clare
.”

“I
shall
.”

“Splendid.”

After that exchange, dinner was an uncomfortable meal. Selina was surprised to find that Lord Trehearth's sisters joined them at table, despite their tender age. They had, at least, exchanged their unacceptable attire for dresses, though they squirmed in them and plucked at tight sleeves and bodices. Clearly, the garments had been made when the girls were smaller. Selina made a few attempts at polite conversation, but the master of the house offered only minimal replies, and the twins looked sullen and said nothing. The roast was underdone and the potatoes cooked to sludge. The host continually refilled his wineglass. Selina was very glad to escape the family board and retire to her bedchamber for an early night.

***

Clare slept soundly right through the evening and the night, not stirring until early morning light filtered through the threadbare curtains. She woke much refreshed and very hungry. Throwing back the covers, she was struck by the chill of the room. The fire had nearly died. Hurrying over the cold floorboards, she shifted the fire screen and stirred the coals, then added logs from the bin beside the fireplace. As the flames sprang back, she splashed her face and hands with cold water remaining in the can from last night. It would have been so pleasant to have a cup of early tea, but she didn't blame Mrs. Pendennis for the lack. At her age, and with the size of place, it was no wonder the house was without amenities. One of Clare's first tasks was obviously hiring staff to help her.

Dressed, she went downstairs in search of breakfast. She was wondering which way to turn to find the kitchen when her new husband's twin sisters stepped out of a doorway and into her path, spreading out in an obvious ambush. They were still dressed as boys, and their long black hair fell in tangles down their backs. Did they never brush it? Not quite recovered from the surprise of discovering their existence, Clare began a greeting.

“We are
not
going to be made to wear dresses,” said one of them.

Clare noticed the tiny mole. It was Tamsyn.

“Or make boring ‘polite conversation,'” said Tegan.

“Or waste our time in a schoolroom.”

“Or learn ‘genteel accomplishments.'” Tegan almost spit the final word.

“Or take orders from a stupid city ‘lady' who knows nothing about us.” It was back to Tamsyn for the grim finish.

Clare heard hurt in that last sentence. These little girls had noticed her startlement at their very existence, and she was sorry for that, though it was not her fault. She met two pairs of intense dark eyes. The twins were trembling with determination and anxiety. Pity rose in her. Their world had changed, and they'd had no say in the revolution, not even a mention. She understood only too well what that felt like. It was tempting to open her arms, to offer them kindness and reassurance. But Clare knew that the softer emotions would be suspiciously rejected right now. Jamie's sisters were declaring war. They had no reason to trust her, and they would despise conciliation as much as rebukes.

For the first time, Clare was thankful that she'd been a governess for six years. She'd dealt with children so spoiled by indulgence that they'd scarcely heard the word “no,” and with some whose heedless parents had allowed them to hatch schemes of amazing guile and complexity. She'd once had to quell a full-on tantrum in the middle of a crowded ballroom, while peers of the realm stood back in helpless consternation. The twins had no idea what they were up against. “I see. Is that all?” she said cordially.

The girls gaped at her.

“Can you tell me the way to the kitchen?” Clare added. “I'm looking for some breakfast.”

After a further bewildered pause, Tamsyn pointed. Clare smiled at her and set off in the indicated direction. It would be amusing to hear what the sisters said to each other when she was gone. But she thought she could predict most of it.

The large old-fashioned kitchen, with its associated storerooms and a space for servants' meals, occupied the lower level of the north wing. Clare found Anna Pendennis stirring a pot of porridge that hung over a bed of coals in the big kitchen hearth. “Good morning,” she said.

The old woman dropped a small curtsy. “Milady.”

“I slept so long that I'm quite hungry,” Clare added with a friendly smile.

The old woman nodded. “You look like you could use some feeding up, and no mistake. I've got this porridge here, and there's bread and good butter and jam. I'll tell you straight out, though, milady, I'm no great shakes as a cook. When the old master was alive, we had Mrs. Fitch to manage the kitchen. Gone up to Penzance years ago to work in some merchant's house.”

“Ah.” Clare could see from where she stood that the porridge was rather lumpy. “Is there tea?”

“Aye. That I can do.” Mrs. Pendennis hooked a steaming iron kettle from over the fire and grasped it with a cloth. She poured the hot water over leaves already waiting in a china pot.

Clare sat down at the well-scrubbed kitchen table and began her meal. Mrs. Pendennis's lack of surprise at this informality told her more about the state of the household. “I'd like to get you some help as soon as possible. I wondered if you could recommend anyone?”

“There's a couple of girls in the village might do. They'd like the wages, I know.” The old woman gave Clare a sharp glance, and Clare nodded carefully in response. Anna Pendennis pursed her wrinkled lips, satisfied. They understood each other. There would be regular wages from now on. “I'll put out the word, like.”

“Good. I'll just tell his lordship—”

“Mr. Jamie's already out on the land,” said Mrs. Pendennis. “Like to be gone all day, he said. Home for dinner.”

“Oh.” Clare was briefly taken aback. She hadn't even seen him since the dog debacle and the revelation that he had a pair of obstreperous sisters. She'd expected that they would talk this morning. She certainly had a few things to say to him. Clare sipped her tea and considered the likely course of that conversation. No doubt that was one reason he was gone—for the entire day.

She didn't know whether to smile or scowl. Was he going to require as much managing as Tamsyn and Tegan? Of course, there was also a great deal to be done on the land. He
had
mentioned that, repeatedly. “Well, I shall ask Selina when she comes down—”

“She was up betimes. Going out for a walk, she said.”

“Oh,” repeated Clare. Fleetingly, she felt abandoned. But that was ridiculous. She should turn her mind to the long list of tasks that lay ahead.

***

At the foot of the path that led from Trehearth manor down to the village nestled in a cove, Selina turned right, toward the church. The steepled edifice was built of the same gray stone as the house above but looked much older. As she'd hoped, Selina found the doors unlatched. It was often so with village churches, and she'd taken advantage of that freedom from locks many times.

Slipping through the solid wooden door, she sat in a pew in one of the back rows and let the serenity of the space settle around her. Shafts of early sunlight shone through the stained-glass windows down either side of the church, lending color to the flagstone floor. The quiet that always seemed to come with the whoof of a church door closing embraced her. A bank of flowers before the altar scented the air. The stone pulpit at the front looked medieval.