Authors: Denise Patrick
“That’s just it,” he said. “I do not want my pick, I want you. Nor do I want to have to bother with picking.”
“What a wonderful compliment,” she retorted. He made her sound like an inconvenient convenience. Why bother looking for something better when what is on hand will do? “I’m flattered to have saved you so much work.”
His head snapped up, his eyes staring at her while his brows drew together in a frown. Then he smiled. Well, not quite a smile. More a quirk of his lips as if he squelched the urge to laugh.
“I apologize, Corinna. I did not mean to offend. But I have not partaken willingly in any social functions in the last five years. The thought of participating in a London season searching for the obligatory wife does not excite me in the least. Quite the opposite, in fact. Your presence would absolve me of that chore and for that, I would be forever grateful.”
How grateful? The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she caught them before they spilled out. She didn’t have a choice. She now understood that. Why spoil it by making him think her a shameless, greedy opportunist?
“I–I will think on it.” She stumbled over the words, not quite willing to completely agree, and rose to her feet. Perhaps tonight she would come up with another plausible scenario. But now she needed air—she glanced at the rain drenched windows—well, at least solitude.
Marcus seemed to understand. “Tomorrow, Corinna. My sister is due here within the next few days and I would like you to be settled in by then. There will be fewer questions.”
He stood as she nodded. It might be decided in his eyes, however she wasn’t ready to concede. Perhaps after a good night’s sleep.
“I will escort you back to the—”
“There’s no need. I would like some time to think. I will await the children in the nursery.”
They parted at the top of the stairs. She went up, he went down. She turned and looked back as he reached the bottom of the stairs and turned toward the rear of the house.
Was it possible to feel dread and exhilaration at the same time? Hope and despair? She sighed and continued to climb the stairs. At least she wasn’t feeling love and hate. She might not like the way Marcus had maneuvered her into a corner, but her heart beat a little faster at the prospect.
Chapter Nine
“I was astounded, but happy. I think Marcus is nearly halfway to being in love with Corinna already. Whether he is likely to ever admit it is another story altogether.”
Felicia, Duchess of Warringham to her sister, Tina Collings, Marchioness of Thanet
The next morning did not come fast enough for Marcus. He thought he’d convinced her she had no choice, yet doubts persisted. Suppose she continued to refuse? Suppose she decided to take her chances as a governess? He’d promised not to say anything to Felicia or Brand. How would he convince her to stay?
More to the point, why did he want her to stay?
He had no answer. For the last hour, he’d stood at the window of his sitting room and watched the sunrise. The brilliant light splashed color over the water of the channel, onto the cliffs and beach below, and gradually blanketed the land. The encroaching warmth slowly enveloped him, bringing with it a certainty he hadn’t felt for most of the night.
Turning, he left the room and headed for the stables. He needed air. To feel the wind in his hair, the cool bite of the ocean breeze on his face. It would clear the cobwebs formed by too little sleep and too much brandy.
His first stop as he left the stables was the small graveyard. Before he’d been blindsided by Corinna’s revelation, learning as much as he could about his mother had occupied his time. Despite knowing she was responsible for his brothers’ kidnapping, she had been a model parent to him and Eliza. Except for being a little overbearing when it came to his friends, he had good memories of her while growing up. Knowing she had been born and raised at St. Ayers gave him the opportunity to learn more about her childhood and his grandparents.
After reading his father’s letters to him and Brand, he understood what his father did and why. But, he was still unsure about his mother’s motive. She’d wanted him to inherit his father’s title. She’d wanted revenge for her father’s unjust prosecution and death. But had she known the entire story?
His father’s last letter had said that it hadn’t been the late earl who’d been the traitor. The earl had remained silent to protect his wife. Whatever he knew went to his grave with him. And, whatever his wife knew, had she told her daughter? What Marcus wanted to know, but admitted he might never discover, was whether his mother knew
her
mother was the traitor and, despite that knowledge, determined to avenge her father anyway.
So far he’d learned his grandfather was widely respected and well-loved. His countess less so as the people of St. Ayers never seemed to get past the fact that she was French. Miss Em—as his mother was known—was also well-loved and apparently a happy child. How had it all gone so wrong?
Leaving the cemetery behind, he took a small track down to the shore and headed toward the nearest small village. Nestled among the craggy cliffs and steep hillside was the tiny fishing village of Distryn. He’d been told that an old fisherman named Ben who had known his grandfather and mother lived there.
“Ye ’ave the look of ’im, ye do,” the crusty old sailor told Marcus. Seated at a table in the small pub, Old Ben, as the locals called him, peered at him through faded blue eyes and took a swig of the ale before him.
The interior of the small establishment was bright in spots where the small windows tucked under wide, thatched eaves let in the bright morning light. Seated across from Old Ben at one of the long tables, they were the only patrons at this hour of the morning.
“There ain’t none of the locals what believed ’e did what they said,” he told Marcus. “We all guessed it was that wife o’ ’is. But ’e was so smitten that ’e wouldna allow anyone to say anything against ’er.”
“What about my mother?”
“Miss Em were the prettiest little thing,” he answered with a smile, showing stained and chipped teeth. “She’d come ridin’ into the village wi’ ’er Pa, an’ everyone knew ’ow much ’e doted on ’er. She weren’t ’fraid o’ nuthin’. Loved the water too.”
“What happened?” Marcus knew the story, but wondered if the villagers and locals around St. Ayers might shed more light on it than even his father had known.
“I’m guessin’ it were the countess’s brother that started it all. ’E was some fancy piece from France. I ’eard tell that the countess’s father was a French Comte what lost near everything, including ’is ’ead, in the revolution.
“Durin’ the war, ’er brother showed up an’ stayed fer a while. The first time the war was over, ’e went home, an’ we didn’t see ’im again ’til the year after Waterloo. After that, ’e came a lot, mostly fer a few days, then ’e would leave agin.”
The innkeeper came by and cleared the breakfast dishes from the table. Inquiring as to whether they needed anything else, Marcus shook his head, gave him a number of coins, then turned back to the old sailor as the innkeeper bustled away. The brother was a new twist in the story.
“The last time ’e was ’ere, I ’eard tell ’e tried t’ get the countess to leave wi’ ’im, but she wouldna go.”
“Does anyone know why?”
“Why what?”
“Why he wanted her to leave, or why she refused to go?”
“Nope,” was the answer. “But I gots a guess,” he confided. “I’m thinkin’ the brother already knew they’d been found out an’ wanted to get ’is sister back to France.” He took another drink from his tankard and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“So, what happened next?”
“Not long after, the soldiers came an’ took ’is lordship away. The countess an’ Miss Em followed, I’m guessin’, ’cause no one seen ’em agin till some months later. They came back, packed up, an’ left agin. ’Twas only a week later that someun brung the earl’s body back an’ buried ’im. Then, it was almost a year later afore a Mr. Mortimer showed up, sayin’ that ’e was the new steward fer the new owner who was the Duke o’ Warringham. An’ it were another whole year afore the duke came down to see the place fer ’isself.”
For an old fisherman, Ben still had a quick mind. “Did she ever come back?”
“Who?”
“My mother.”
The old man nodded. “Once I know’d of. She was all grow’d up and lookin’ like a fine lady, but she didn’t stay at the ’ouse. ’Stead she came to see those o’ us what know’d ’er afore. She tol’ me ’er Pa ’ad been innocent an’ she was gonna make ’em all pay fer ruinin’ their lives. After she left, I never seen ’er agin.”
Corinna stood on the beach, watching the waves lap against the damp, packed sand at her feet. The ocean before her was vast, reaching toward a bright blue horizon where water and sky met. Despite the brilliant, flaming ball in the sky, the breeze fluttering the ribbons of her bonnet was sharp. And just what she needed to keep her head clear.
She’d spent too much of the night going over her conversation with Marcus. It had occurred to her that, as a countess, she might have nothing to fear from Vincent. That, as Marcus’s wife, Vincent’s word might not weigh so heavily. After all, she hadn’t given her great-aunt the overdose of laudanum. Her aunt had taken it herself. Corinna hadn’t discovered it until she checked her on the way to bed. At most, Corinna was guilty of leaving her body there for someone else to find instead of alerting the authorities other death. It was what Aunt Mirabel had made her promise to do. Regardless, she knew her actions made her look like someone with something to hide.
She’d taken nothing from the house except the Bible Aunt Mirabel had given her. It had once belonged to Aunt Mirabel’s brother, Corinna’s grandfather. She’d been eager to have it, hoping it would have a reference to her grandmother’s family. It did but, to her disappointment, only first names were listed on the family tree at the front. She would have to come up with some other way to find out which earl had been her great-grandfather.
The thought of reclaiming her mother’s jewelry tempted her more than she’d realized. Some of the pieces had come from the unknown earl in her family tree and certainly didn’t belong to the Houghton family. Remembering the cold disdain in Ellen’s voice when she’d asked for her mother’s jewels still made her cringe.
Enough. She turned away from the sun reflecting off the water. She’d walked down to the beach because she needed to think. It was her afternoon off and she knew the duke and duchess had taken the children riding. She moved to her favorite perch. The large boulder was strong, solid, stable. A bit like Marcus. Which also made it stubborn, self-assured and single-minded. Well, perhaps not. Attributing feelings to a rock was going a bit too far.
She sighed and sat on the rough surface. Why was she making this more difficult than it should be? She knew she still carried a
tendre
for him, so why not let go and just agree? Because she knew that if he never reciprocated, she would be the one hurt. But if she let him go, she might not have another chance.
She closed her eyes and pictured him yesterday. The tenderness in his eyes as he spoke to her had given her hope.
Just know this, I will not stray from the marriage bed, nor will I ever hurt you.
He had no idea of the hurt unanswered love caused, yet his sincerity had shown a caring side. One she hoped someday would grow into something deeper, something more.
Drawing her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them and perched her chin on top. Until arriving in Cornwall, she’d never given thought to the enormity of the sea. As she gazed across the rippling surface, she thought of the courage it took to brave the unknown, as sailors must have done in centuries past. Perhaps now was the time to take a piece of that courage for herself.
The sound of gravel crunching underfoot reached her and she turned to see who had joined her. Her heart reacted to the sight of Marcus reaching the end of the pathway, and her breathing hitched at the easy way he strode across the sand. If only she could be so confident.
“How did you know where I was?” she asked as he reached her. There was no use in assuming he hadn’t been looking for her. He expected an answer today. What other reason would he have for searching her out?
He grinned. “I saw you walking this way a short time ago and knew you were alone. I may be wrong, but I assumed you might have come out here to think.”
She nodded and looked away. At the far end of the beach a couple of seagulls landed, looking for food, then took off again.
“And I suppose you came to help?” She turned back to him.
He was still for a moment, studying her. Then, “No. I suspect you are capable of thinking things through on your own. But if you wanted to discuss…”
She sighed and stood up. She was at too much of a disadvantage sitting down. “There’s not much more to discuss. I’ve been over what we talked about yesterday and even though I don’t like it, you’re right.” She turned and walked down to the water’s edge. “I wish I could just move on with my life without bothering with my family. Unfortunately, I don’t see any other way unless I’m willing to allow Gregory to cheat me of my inheritance—and you of my dowry.”
“I don’t need your dowry, Corinna. But I don’t want your family to profit from their lies. And that’s what you would allow to happen if you just disappear.”