Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 1 of 2

by Sophia James

  ‘How old are your sisters?’ Audevere reached for the blackberry tarts and served them.

  ‘Sarah is sixteen and Mary Rose is fourteen. They dream of London, incessantly.’ He smiled as he spoke of his sisters. ‘I was grown when they were born, off at school and later in London so I am more like a young uncle to all of them.’ But he loved them all, that much was plain. No wonder he was such a natural protector. That role had been shaped for him in his early years, loving and losing the infant siblings, then being so much older than the siblings that had finally come.

  She poured the last of the wine. ‘Your family sounds very loving, very wonderful.’ And very different from hers.

  ‘My family will love you. My sisters will adore you, they’ll want to know all the fashions from London, and Ben loves everyone, so you needn’t worry on that account.’

  ‘Who says I was worried?’ Audevere replied drily.

  ‘You didn’t have to say anything.’ Inigo rose from the table and offered her his hand. ‘Do you think we might take a break from discussing my family?’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’ Audevere took his hand and let him draw her against him.

  ‘Dessert in bed. Starting with drinking the rest of my wine from your navel and licking my blackberry tart from your breasts,’ he growled against her ear, his teeth finding her lobe.

  ‘That sounds positively delicious.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  They dressed slowly in the morning, the usual rituals taking on a certain reverence as if they were arming one another for battle like squires of old. She tied his cravat with exacting precision. She held up her hair, giving him access to the slim length of her neck as he fastened the necklace from the market. She felt his hands linger as he breathed her in. There was comfort in knowing he was savouring these moments, too, filing them away for a rainy day. She turned towards him, her fingers touching the stone where it lay against her skin. ‘How does it look?’

  Inigo leaned against the bedpost, taking her in with hot eyes that said he wished they were back in bed. ‘Beautiful. How could it not when it’s worn by you? You make everything lovely, Audevere.’ She stored the compliment deep in her heart right next to the others. Some day she would be able to take them all out and remember these moments: the last time they’d leave an inn together, the last breakfast, the last carriage ride, the last leg of the journey.

  Audevere made a point of cataloguing each in her mind, a picture collection of what these days had meant to her. She’d not wanted to need a man when this had begun, not after her experiences which had proven a woman was better off alone, but now she needed Inigo as much as she wanted her freedom. Or perhaps more than she wanted her freedom. But it was too late in the game to change her position and there was still the final ugly truth which would drive him away for good. She had to claim her freedom, it was all she could do.

  * * *

  They took the final bend and Merry Weather came into view down a long drive, all pale-brown brick and elegance, two wings emanating from either side of a wide, columned brick square. ‘That centre section was built first, by the original Duke of Boscastle in the sixteenth century,’ Inigo explained, seeing her interest. ‘The others added on in their time.’

  It was imposing. This was the sort of old wealth her father envied and could never acquire. Its simple, powerful lines put his gaudy town house with all its affectations to shame. The carriage passed through a gate, two pillars on either side marking the official entrance to Merry Weather, and a new wave of panic took Audevere. ‘Do they know we’re coming?’ The only thing worse that having to receive the daughter of one’s nemesis was to have her arrive by surprise.

  ‘I sent word ahead when we started planning this effort of yours. They know we’re coming and they know why. I’ve told them everything. You needn’t be embarrassed about your past.’ Inigo was all calm assurance and she wished she could borrow some of that confidence for herself. Even after his encouragement last night, she still couldn’t quite believe she’d be accepted. Maybe acceptance was too much to hope for. Perhaps she would be tolerated and that would have to be enough. After all, she didn’t need anything more from them. She would be gone, she reminded herself. What the Vellanoweths thought of her ultimately didn’t matter. Yet she would be lying to herself if she said she believed that. She fingered the necklace, rubbing the smooth stone absently in her hand for comfort.

  Inigo’s hand reached out and covered hers, bringing it down to her lap, his gaze steady. ‘They will love you.’

  ‘They just have to tolerate me,’ she voiced the words out loud.

  Inigo laughed. ‘They will do more than tolerate you.’ Because he asked it of them, Audevere thought. How wondrous to be surrounded by such people, to be able to call upon them in a time of need.

  As the carriage drew closer, figures appeared on the steps, women in starched aprons and pressed grey dresses, men in blue livery, and at the top of the steps arrayed from youngest to oldest, stood the Duke of Boscastle and his family. Something in her throat caught as she glanced at Inigo. On the road, just the two of them, it was easy to forget who he was in real life, or what it meant to be a duke’s heir. They’d turned out for him, of course. It was what servants did when the heir returned.

  The carriage halted and Audevere swallowed hard, fighting the sensation that this was what it would be like to be Mrs Vellanoweth in truth. Only she wouldn’t ever be Mrs Vellanoweth, even in a perfect world. Inigo’s wife would be Lady Tintagel and eventually the Duchess of Boscastle. More than that, though, when the carriage door opened, she felt she had come home. And she could not afford to feel that way about a place she would leave in a short while.

  Inigo stepped out first and offered her his hand. ‘Smile, my dear, there is nothing to fear here.’ Her hand slid into his and he squeezed it. ‘They will love you,’ he whispered, ‘as do I.’ The last was said so softly she wondered if she had imagined it. Perhaps it was only her wishing that made the words feel like they had been said. Perhaps it was just the echo of the words etched on her heart.

  Inigo’s father stepped forward, a tall, elegant, older version of his son. ‘Welcome to Merry Weather, Miss Brenley. I hope you will enjoy your time with us.’

  * * *

  They did love her, as much as she would let them. The love and care of strangers was new and uncharted territory for her. She’d been loved by her mother, had never doubted that love. But they’d lived reclusively, nothing like this where she was surrounded by people all day. Inigo’s sisters were as delightful as he’d promised, eager to try out new hairstyles and talk of fashion. His little brother was endlessly energetic and their days were filled with long, laughing walks up on the windy bluffs where Merry Weather overlooked the sea. There were hearty suppers, which the whole family, Benny included, ate together, laughing and talking, sometimes arguing. His sisters were well educated and held informed opinions about politics and the economy. Afterwards, there was always entertainment in the family parlour; she and Inigo taught the girls whist or she watched Inigo play chess with his father, a pastime that clearly delighted them both. It made her smile to see them together, father and son. This was what it meant to be a family. It was a beautiful and rare thing. No wonder the Cornish Dukes protected their own with such tenacity. Who would not? This was a great treasure indeed.

  ‘You needn’t be afraid, my dear.’ The Duchess took a chair next to her in the family parlour and took out her needlework. Tonight the girls were taking turns at the piano while Inigo played draughts with Benny while their father looked on offering snippets of advice. ‘We won’t vanish, nor will we break. You keep looking at us as if we are delicate china.’ She smiled fondly. ‘We are not. We have weathered our share of disappointments and are all the stronger for it.’ She nodded towards Inigo. ‘He is a good brother to his siblings even though he’s so much older. For a while we thought he might be the only
family we’d have.’

  ‘Your family is extraordinary,’ Audevere said. ‘I’ve never known anything like it.’

  ‘No one’s life is perfect and we can’t choose the families we’re born into, only the families we make by gathering those we love about us and keeping them safe.’

  Gathering. Keeping. Loving. These were not part of Audevere’s plan. Running. Forgetting. That was her plan, although these days it seemed even that decision was in question when pitted up against the love and acceptance of the Vellanoweths. She let her gaze drift to the table where Inigo sat with Benny and his father. She needed to be strong. If Inigo thought her decision was in doubt, he’d press all the harder for her to stay. She was going to have to decide soon. Any day now, a letter would arrive from her father, a response to Inigo’s threat of exposure. It wouldn’t take him long to realise where they’d gone and the game would be in motion once more, this idyllic hiatus over. She wondered if the Vellanoweths would love her then? She told herself she didn’t want to be here to find out.

  * * *

  ‘Have you decided what to do with her? We can give her the cottage in Devonshire if she’s amenable,’ Inigo’s father asked in quiet tones as they strolled the cliff path above the sea. Audevere was up ahead with his sisters and Ben, the dogs romping at their heels, their laughter floating back to him on the wind. It was uncannily close to the picture he’d formed in his mind, of seeing her with his family and it pleased him. Inigo wondered if it pleased his father.

  ‘It’s only been a week,’ Inigo answered, his gaze never leaving the moving tableau ahead of them. He liked watching Audevere with the girls. The threesome was at ease and they’d taken to one another almost instantly. The girls had embraced her warmly, eager to make friends, and Audevere had responded with all the warmth Inigo knew was in her, genuinely appreciative of their welcome. They consulted with her on everything from necklaces to hairdos. He’d found them just yesterday in the conservatory, sitting beside the fountain braiding one another’s hair and trying new styles. ‘She remains intractable on the cottage.’ Audevere’s stubbornness was proving frustrating. Why did she resist? Surely now she understood they would be able to overcome her father.

  ‘Brenley’s response should arrive any day. We have to be ready with a plan.’ A lack of a response would indicate Brenley was calling his bluff, forcing him to send the letter to the King as he had threatened. But neither he nor his father believed that would be the direction Brenley would take. It would ruin Brenley. Beside him, his father halted, gathering his thoughts carefully before he spoke.

  Inigo gave his father time to frame his opinion. His family had not disappointed him. From the moment he’d arrived at Merry Weather with Audevere, his family had welcomed them, surrounding them with all the famous Boscastle hospitality. His mother had seen to it that Audevere had gowns aplenty and a maid. His father had been unfailingly kind to her, treating her as if she were an honoured guest instead of Sir Gismond Brenley’s daughter. Yet, Inigo knew his father worried about his decision to bring her here and his plan for how to handle Brenley.

  ‘Brenley will not tolerate your threat to expose him. You have cornered him and that makes him dangerous. He knows you can ruin him for decent society and take his title. He will strike back hard.’ His father paused. ‘I fear he may ask for a duel. That is a very permanent way to settle the feud between you and him. Although, once his temper cools, he might realise that if he killed you, there would be six others waiting to face him. He cannot hope to win against all of us.’ His father shook his head. ‘Of course, to lose you would be devastating. The damage to us would already be done. Even if one of us shot him, it wouldn’t bring you back. I would not want him to issue the challenge.’

  ‘I would win,’ Inigo assured him seriously, ‘and all our problems would be solved. He could not threaten us or the people of Cornwall again with his selfish schemes.’

  His father put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Son, it will not bring Collin back. I know you swore an oath when Collin died to avenge his death. But I do not think either he or Richard would want vengeance and honour pursued at the end of a pistol.’

  ‘It may be the only option.’ Inigo’s response was terse. Inigo felt his father’s quiet frustration, although, to his credit, his father did not argue with him.

  ‘Have you discussed that possibility with Audevere?’ They continued walking, his father’s gaze studying him.

  ‘No.’ There was no lying to his father. There never had been. His father demanded honesty from his children in all things, even now as adults. Inigo remembered learning that lesson the hard way growing up, but he’d only had to learn it once.

  ‘How do you think she’d feel if you fought a duel with her father, knowing that only one of you is likely to come away from it alive?’

  Inigo had no answer for that. ‘She wants to be free of him. He has used her sorely in the past, in ways that are reprehensible to consider. No parent should use a child the way she was used.’

  His father nodded. ‘Even a bad parent is still a parent, though, and, from what I understand, he is all she has in this world.’ There was a question underlying his words.

  ‘She has us,’ Inigo answered the question as implicitly as it was asked.

  ‘Does she? Is that what you intend, then?’ They’d reached the end of the headlands and they stood looking out over the grey rollers tipped in white. The others were a little way off, trying to fly Ben’s kite and having little success, but loads of fun. ‘You mean to make her one of us? You mean to marry Audevere Brenley?’

  ‘I mean to offer her more than a cottage in Devonshire.’ Inigo had not put it to himself so bluntly before. He’d always allowed the idea to remain rather amorphous in his mind. ‘Yes, I do,’ Inigo answered, feeling the reality of that settle on his shoulders, part-elation, part-trepidation. What if she wouldn’t have him? What if his parents disagreed with his choice? What if the Cornish Dukes disapproved? ‘How would you and Mother feel if I made her my wife?’ Inigo tested the hypothesis. His family was important to him. He would not cause a rift if it could be avoided.

  ‘I think it would depend on the reasons.’ His father slanted him a look. ‘If you love her and she loves you, it is one thing. But if you are marrying her to protect her, that’s another. I would have misgivings in that regard. If this marriage is for any other reason than love, we will find another way to protect her.’

  A smile played on his father’s face as they looked out over the water. ‘Do you know how many times I’ve imagined having this talk with you? Ever since the day you were born, I think I began rehearsing for all the milestones in your life. The first day you went off to boarding school, the first day you came up to town as a young man, the first day you took your own rooms in London and the day you decided to marry.’ His father’s blue eyes were misty as he shook his head. ‘But never, in all my imaginings of that moment, did I think the woman you might choose would be the daughter of our rival. I want you to be careful, Son.

  ‘You know how your mother and I feel about marriage, Inigo. It should be for no other reason than love because marriage is for ever and it is meant to be lived together.’ His father arched his dark brows. ‘So, you both need to ask yourselves whether you love one another enough to bear the hardships of life. Your mother and I have buried three children, we’ve buried our friends, we’ve buried our friends’ children. The two of you would start married life under a cloud if you duel with her father.’

  With blood on his hands, Inigo thought more baldly. ‘I love her. I’ve loved her for quite a while, even before I knew her as I know her now,’ Inigo confessed. It felt good, cleansing, to say the words out loud. He’d not realised how much he’d bottled up inside, how much he’d kept from himself and from others.

  His father chuckled. ‘Does she know what you intend?’

  ‘Perhaps she might have guessed, but likely not the re
ason for it.’ Inigo grinned at his father. ‘I suppose I should put that on my list of things I must discuss with her.’ He would find a way to make Audevere stay, to convince her that marriage was possible, that their love was possible. It didn’t have to end with the journey.

  ‘The sooner the better.’ His father put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I wish you luck, because I see what she means to you. But remember, Audevere Brenley has been through a lot. She may not be able to give you what you want. If she wants to fly, you should not hold her back. No happiness can come from that.’

  Inigo turned to watch her with the others, the wind catching at her hat. She looked happy and the colour in her cheeks was high. Perhaps she wouldn’t want to leave. Perhaps she loved his family and Merry Weather as much as he did, or at least enough to stay. He’d done his best to woo her with all the temptations a family could offer. But his father was right. It was time to have those difficult conversations and it was best to do it now while there was at least the illusion of free will before Gismond Brenley showed his hand. If he and Audevere could decide what it was they wanted without any interference, it would give them a foundation for going forward. ‘I will discuss it with her tonight. As for Brenley, I think it’s time to call the Dukes and assemble our council of war.’

  She waved to him, a smile on her face, one hand on her hat to keep it from flying away. He waved back and strode towards her, joining in the fun of kite flying in the sea wind. He wasn’t above sweetening the pot—anything he could do to hedge his bets, to convince her they could make a life here.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The impossible had happened. Inigo had become a chatterbox. It was Audevere’s first indication that something was on his mind. The second was the break in routine. Instead of joining the family after dinner, Inigo suggested a walk in the gallery. It was beginning to worry her and she could think of only one reason for it. ‘Has there been word from my father?’ In truth, the waiting weighed on her. She was not long on patience. It was hard waiting for the other shoe to fall, knowing that it would, but not what it would be. What action would her father take? What action would Inigo be required to take in response? Her own decisions would be contingent on both of theirs. She’d rather make those decisions before she had any more emotion attached to them. It would be too easy to stay at Merry Weather, to let Inigo handle the mess that was her father. But that would all change once Inigo knew her secret.