An elegant bewigged gentleman and his heavily pregnant wife were the next to come forward. Warm and friendly with their introductions, Kerensa was surprised to learn they were Sir Martin’s son and heir William, and Rachael his wife. William was as short as his father, but as thin as the other was fat.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Lady Pengarron,’ he said jovially. ‘I do hope you will enjoy your evening with us.’
‘We were sorry to have missed your wedding, my dears,’ put in the plain faced Rachael, ‘but William was away in London on business and I,’ she patted her swollen stomach in explanation, ‘was not feeling too well on that particular day.’
‘Well you are a picture of radiant beauty now,’ said Oliver gallantly and he affectionately kissed her sallow cheek.
‘You flatter me, Oliver. It’s quite untrue, of course, for alas I never look my best when in this happy condition. Now,’ she said to Kerensa, ‘I’m sure we’re all on first name terms, aren’t we? May I suggest Kerensa we leave my disreputable father-in-law and our dear husbands to talk business or to play cards and retire somewhere comfortable to sit down.’
‘You’re not taking her away already are you? Damn me, Rachael, I’ve only just got my arm round her,’ laughed Sir Martin. ‘Go on then my little one, off you go to your gossiping, but I beg the pleasure of taking you into supper.’
‘It will be my pleasure… Martin,’ Kerensa said, delighting him with a smile and a curtsey.
Linking her arm through Kerensa’s, Rachael led the girl to two chairs by an open window.
‘That’s better.’ Rachael spread the full skirt of her gown as she sat down and unfolded her fan. She smiled understandingly as Kerensa copied her, the girl’s movements coming naturally. ‘Old Marty’s quite fallen in love with you Kerensa, he’ll speak of nothing else for weeks now.’
‘I can see why Oliver is so fond of him, of Sir Martin,’ Kerensa replied.
‘You’ll have to get used to it, you know,’ Rachael said brightly.
‘Used to what?’ Kerensa was puzzled.
‘Men falling in love with you of course, my dear, and desiring you. But I don’t suppose you realise for a moment just how appealing to men you are,’ Rachael informed, ‘I never normally have any trouble keeping William in line, but he’s hardly taken his eyes off you since you arrived.’
‘I don’t know what to say to that,’ Kerensa said, looking awkwardly about the room. ‘Is Captain Solomon expected tonight?’
‘Not tonight, my dear. So you’ve met Hezekiah, have you?’
‘Yes… after the wedding. He was the only person who was civil to me after the ceremony.’
Rachael’s brow wrinkled with momentary concern. ‘Don’t expect that man to fall in love with you though, Kerensa. He’s as cold as marble.’
Kerensa looked curiously at the other woman but Rachael had a mind to move on to something else.
‘Don’t take any notice of those two,’ she said, having observed Sarah Cole tittering behind her fan to the only other woman in the room. ‘Everyone knows Thomas Cole would not have married that ferret-faced Sarah Sarrison if she wasn’t in a certain condition at the time.’
‘Sarrison? Is she a relative of those two elderly gentlemen?’
‘Their niece actually. Shares the same ridiculous grin if one is bored enough to watch her long enough to spot it. I don’t care for her company myself, but poor Thomas has to cart her along with him every now and then. She probably found out you were coming here tonight and wouldn’t be left at home.’
A footman approached them with a tray of wine glasses, but informed in advance of Kerensa’s preference for not drinking alcohol, Rachael waved him away.
‘Who is the other lady with Mistress Cole?’ Kerensa asked. ‘I haven’t been introduced to her. Or to the gentleman standing behind Oliver at the moment.’
The gentleman in question was a young man in his early twenties, tastefully dressed in fawn and black.
‘That’s Josephine Courtis, the widow of a wealthy banker. She must hate you, my dear, she had an eye on Oliver for herself. Though I can’t see why, she’s most definitely not the sort to take his fancy. As you can see, she’s a good ten years older to begin with. She was furious at not receiving an invitation to your wedding.’
‘Does Sir Martin like her?’ asked Kerensa.
‘Marty can’t bear the woman, but she’s an enthusiastic card player and can afford to lose heavily.’
‘I see. And the gentleman?’
‘He’s Josephine’s half-brother, Peter Blake, and you can take it from me he is no true gentleman. He may possess a rather beautiful countenance, but I’d advise any lady, young or old, to avoid him.’ Rachael gave a merry laugh and put her hand on Kerensa’s arm, ‘Oh my goodness. I sound more like a chaperone than a hostess. Well, I suppose I ought to introduce you to Josephine Courtis then you can make up your own mind about her, my dear.’
* * *
While Kerensa was being introduced to the widow, Peter Blake had managed to attract Oliver’s attention.
‘My congratulations on your recent marriage, Sir Oliver.’
‘Thank you, Blake,’ Oliver replied stonily, looking above the younger man’s head.
Peter Blake had once served in the 32nd Regiment of Foot, the same regiment as Oliver. Oliver had resigned his commission eight years before to run the Pengarron Estate on his father’s death, leaving with honour and distinction. Blake had been dishonourably discharged several years later over a scandal involving a serving maid of the royal court. As far as Oliver was concerned, Blake had disgraced all Cornish men, including Arthur Beswetherick, who had served King and country with fervent loyalty. He despised Peter Blake and made no secret of it.
Oliver had been proud to show Kerensa off to his friends tonight. From his earliest observations of her since their marriage he was confident she would not let him down in manners or appearance, that she would not set out deliberately to embarrass him and make a laughing stock of him before his peers. He was pleased to be able to flaunt her youth, grace and beauty as proof of his winning the better part of the bargain he had made with her grandfather, as well as enhancing his reputation of being the most unconventional gentleman in Cornwall. He was not only territorial about Kerensa, he felt protective towards her now. He didn’t like Peter Blake mentioning her. If he had his way Blake wouldn’t even be allowed to look at her.
‘Your wife looks most charming, sir,’ he said, looking across the room where Kerensa was talking to his half-sister Josephine Courtis, and another woman.
‘She is,’ Oliver snapped. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Blake?’ With that he stalked off, but Blake seemed unruffled by his ungracious behaviour.
At the earliest opportunity Rachael Beswetherick disengaged Kerensa from the other women and they took seats together. Kerensa was feeling hot and was grateful for the pleasant breezes drifting lightly through the open window, bringing with them the fragrant scent of spring flowers. She lightly waved her fan, and Rachael sent a footman to bring two glasses of cold spring water.
She squeezed Kerensa’s hand. ‘You did very well against those two’s acid tongues. They don’t come any worse than that.’
Kerensa said, ‘I didn’t expect to enjoy myself, but I am.’
‘You don’t seem at all nervous,’ Rachael remarked, peering at her. ‘I expected to find you a timid little thing, quaking in your shoes.’
‘Marrying Oliver was such an overwhelming event, nothing seems daunting to me now.’
‘Well, my old grandmother used to say all the airs and graces and fancy manners in the world doesn’t make a real lady. You’re a natural, my dear.’
Rachael moved in as close as her bulging middle would allow. ‘Tell me, Kerensa, how did you get on on your wedding night?’
‘Well, I…’ Kerensa blushed furiously. She was not particularly shy or prudish by nature, but her Methodist-influenced upbringing had led her to believe you shouldn’t discuss suc
h an intimate thing, especially with someone you had only just met.
‘Oh, my dear!’ Rachael laughed and covered the girl’s hand with hers. ‘I didn’t mean to cause you any embarrassment. It’s many a year since I have felt such shyness. He’s very good though, Oliver, isn’t he? And so handsome. I’ve lain with him many a time, you know.’
Kerensa’s eyes widened as her embarrassment turned to shock. She didn’t know if Oliver was ‘good’ in the marriage bed, she had no previous experience to compare him with as Rachael had. She did not dread his approaches as she had on their wedding night, there was nothing about him that frightened her now, and she did not dislike the other times when he seemed only to want to show her a little affection. She supposed she ought not to be shocked to have met someone he had been with in the past, he had not stinted himself in the amorous side of life, but she looked with hostility at the two other women in the room and wondered if they were past conquests of his too.
‘Before I married William, of course,’ added Rachael, patting Kerensa’s hand.
But although she had felt an immediate liking for this outspokenly risqué lady and was not unhappy to be in her company, as far as Kerensa was concerned Rachael’s last remark didn’t make it right that she had slept with her husband.
Left on his own Peter Blake moved slowly about the room, making a pretence of admiring the numerous ornaments and valuable paintings dotted about. He drank several glasses of wine, indulging in only the occasional scrap of small talk with the people around him. He stopped behind a towering green plant and pulled aside the foliage to observe the new Lady Pengarron. When Kerensa laughed softly at something Rachael Beswetherick said to her, Blake very slowly ran his tongue along his thin lower lip.
Kerensa left the supper party shortly after twelve-thirty. The aged Judith Teague had waited up for her, insisting on helping her out of her gown to prepare for the night’s stay, saying it was a pleasure to wait on a lady again so long after Lady Ameline’s death. Judith treated Kerensa as though she’d been born into the gentry. The next hour was spent in pleasant chatter with the old servant and her reminiscences of the Beswetherick family.
‘Hasn’t changed one little bit, Sir Oliver hasn’t, m’lady. Always dashing about he was, getting everyone else in a proper dither the times he came to stay at Tolwithrick with young Master Arthur.’ Judith sighed happily at the memories.
Kerensa was deeply curious about Arthur Beswetherick but had for some reason always felt it unwise to ask Oliver about his late friend. Judith Teague was the ideal person to put her unanswered questions to.
‘How long is it since Master Arthur died, Judith?’
‘All of ten years now, m’lady. He and Sir Oliver was away fighting the French alongside of the King, but only Sir Oliver came back,’ Judith said, her expression faraway. ‘I believe it was a worse blow to him than to the Beswetherick family. Thinking about it, perhaps Master Arthur’s death changed something in Sir Oliver. Sometimes he’d look so lost and lonely.’
Kerensa nodded her understanding of this. There were occasions she had noticed when Oliver would gaze at nothing and a momentary look of pain would appear on his face from somewhere deep inside him.
‘They must have been very close friends,’ she murmured.
‘Inseparable,’ Judith agreed.
When the maid retired for the night Kerensa lay back on the sumptuous bed. Sir Martin’s guest rooms were, like everywhere else in the recently built house, ornately decorated throughout. She mulled over the events of the evening, getting them clear in her mind so that she could tell Alice, Ruth and Esther all about them. How she had made a friend of the loud-voiced Rachael, the details of the gowns of the other ladies, their jewels, their wigs and their mannerisms. And the elegantly dressed men, some bewigged and powdered.
There had been a mountainous supply of food, and liquor enough to quench the thirst of every miner in West Cornwall, served by grave-faced, white-and-gold liveried servants. But the thing she had enjoyed most of all was the excellent performance of the band of musicians. When the gentlemen, with the exception of Peter Blake, drew aside to the card tables, Kerensa would gladly have stayed longer to listen to the beautiful sounds. But when Rachael had been forced to retire with rapidly swelling ankles, she had not felt compelled to remain in the company of Sarah Cole, or under the disquieting glance of the remaining young man.
She was still awake when Oliver came to bed. Surprised to see her eyes open in the candlelight, he whispered, ‘I thought you’d be asleep. Are you ill?’
‘No. I’ve just been lying here thinking,’ she replied. ‘Is it very late?’
‘Only about two-thirty. Here, I have something for you.’ He threw a leather pouch to land on the bed beside her. ‘I managed only a modest win at the table tonight. As you had a very successful evening, it’s yours.’
Kerensa sat up, picked up the pouch and pulled open the drawstrings. She tipped a pile of clinking coins on to the top bed-cover. ‘There must be fifty pounds here!’ she gasped.
‘Fifty-three and seventeen shillings to be exact. Spend it as you will.’
Kerensa couldn’t think of anything to say except, ‘Thank you.’ It was more money than she had ever seen before at one time and she had no idea what she would do with it. In a stunned silence she dropped the coins, one by one, back into the pouch and reached over to place it on a nearby cabinet. When she turned back Oliver was casting aside the last of his clothes to add to all the others he had previously strewn about the floor. Annoyed by this Kerensa fought the urge to jump out of bed, pick them all up and fold them tidily. He climbed naked into the bed beside her. She thought this most unseemly, particularly in someone else’s house, but she knew he would only laugh if she spoke of it.
‘So, my dear,’ he said, settling himself back comfortably with an arm behind his head, ‘you got on very well with Rachael. Martin was sure you would. She’s a good woman, is Rachael. Actually she’s properly Lady Rachael, her father being the Earl of Nansavellion.’
‘She doesn’t behave as if she’s the daughter of an earl. That is, not as I would have expected. She made me laugh a lot. I like her. She invited me to stay at Tolwithrick.’
‘Did she? Good. Every time I see Rachael she seems to be with child. Goodness knows how many this will make now, I’ve lost count.’
A feeling of disappointment welled up inside Kerensa. She wanted to have a child herself, to help her forget the loss she still felt over Clem. To obscure some of the overwhelming presence of Oliver in her life but also – somewhat contrarily – to provide him with the heir he so greatly desired to carry on the Pengarron name.
Very quietly she said, ‘Nine. Rachael told me this child will be their ninth.’
‘Ninth! As many as that, is it?’ Sensing the change in her mood Oliver turned on his side. Resting on his elbow he looked down at her. In the glow of the candlelight and the silvery fingers of a pale moon stealing in through the window, he made out the tautness of her small features. ‘You’ll wrinkle up like Beatrice if you pull that face for long,’ he teased her.
Kerensa met his gaze, catching her breath with a sense of wonder. At the far reaches of her mind she had always found him physically attractive, had unaccountably been drawn to him. Looking at him now, with the moonlight gleaming on his finely muscled body, perfect in its line and balance, the full realisation of these feelings swept over her. And for the first time she was not disturbed that she could be so easily overwhelmed by him.
He ran a finger down her cheek, then kissed her forehead. He kissed her eyes, the tip of her nose, the soft skin behind her ears. Brushing his lips in gentle circles on hers, he pulled her nightdress from her shoulder then nestled his mouth into the well at the base of her neck. His hands traced the soft contours of her body, lingering in the places that made her tremble.
It pleased Oliver that she now seemed to find his attentions not unwelcome, with each succeeding time he came to her she tried to please him more and
more, abandoning herself to his touch. Tonight he sensed something new in Kerensa and a thrill of pleasure ran through him at the thought that her desire matched his.
She stopped him suddenly with a restraining hand on his shoulder.
‘Rachael said…’
But he kept kissing her and she spoke breathlessly in the short moments his mouth sought her elsewhere.
‘…that… you… and… her…’
He took her hand from his shoulder and slid it round his neck. ‘What did Rachael say?’ He stopped kissing her long enough for her to tell him.
‘She said that you and she had been lovers,’ Kerensa got out at last.
Oliver grinned. ‘Did she indeed?’ He planted a tiny kiss on each of her parted lips. ‘Well, that, my pretty love, was all a very long time ago.’ Kerensa had given little thought to Oliver’s past affairs, before tonight, but lying in a room next to one of his ex-mistresses, yet another new feeling, awesome in its intensity, grew inside her. Lady Rachael Beswetherick, her new friend and a woman she liked and felt comfortable with, became at that moment an object of distrust and animosity. It would have surprised and amused Oliver to know she was jealous – jealous of a plain sallow-faced woman almost twice her age, heavily pregnant, and safely married to someone else for a good many years.
He reached out to pull a candelabrum closer to the edge of the cabinet.
‘Are you still interested in her?’ Kerensa asked fiercely, watching his face closely in the clearer illumination.
‘In Rachael! I’ve hardly given the woman a thought in years. Why do you ask?’
Kerensa didn’t answer. She gripped the hair at the back of his neck with both hands and, pressing her body to his, raised her head until her mouth demanded his in an act of definite possessiveness.
Pengarron Land Page 19
