by Sophia James
Inigo shook his head. ‘No, there’s been no word.’
Audevere smiled. ‘Then what’s on your mind?’
‘Can’t I just want to be alone with you?’ He pulled her to him and stole a kiss. There’d been precious little time for kisses, stolen or otherwise, this week. She’d missed them.
‘You can, but I don’t think that’s it.’
Inigo led her over to a wide, square, upholstered bench set in the middle of the gallery and pulled her down beside him. ‘You’re right. It’s something more, something I hope you will take seriously.’ His eyes glittered intently in the dim light of the gallery.
‘I will, whatever it is,’ she promised solemnly, her senses on full alert. Whatever he was thinking about, it was deeply important to him.
‘I am asking you to do me the honour of being my wife. I want to marry you, Aud. I want to make a life with you here at Merry Weather, raise our children the way I was raised, amid a loving family and friends.’
She was silent, stunned. It was a simple but perfect proposal, all his talk of family and children an apropos match for the setting of the Boscastle gallery where generations of Vellanoweths looked down on them. How long had he been planning such a proposal, to have thought so perfectly about where to ask? But that was Inigo, everything managed down to the last detail.
What to say? Of all the things she’d imagined he’d ask, this was not one of them. Oh, she might have fantasised on the road about being his wife in truth, but she’d never dared to let herself dream of actually being asked. And she dared not dream it now or else she’d give in to it. She had to hold fast to her resolve, she had to remember all the reasons she needed to refuse. ‘Now? With so much unsettled? Do you think a proposal is wise?’ She opted to prevaricate instead of reject.
‘I want this to be about us, Aud. This should be our decision.’ His hand rubbed soothing circles across her knuckles. ‘I love you, Aud. This is not about protection or convenience or a vendetta against your father. This is about you and me. But I worry you might not see that if we wait to hear from your father.’
He loved her. She had not imagined the whispered words after all. She let her heart sing for a moment. The silence stretched between them, one heartbeat, two, and then three. He was waiting for her to say something, to say yes, to say that she loved him, too. She did love him, too much to accept his proposal. She knew what she had to do, what she had to tell him.
‘I am honoured by your proposal, truly,’ Audevere said, clearing her throat against the thickness lodged there. He was forever reducing her to the point of tears. There’d been so much goodness in her life these past weeks with him and now she had to throw it away in order to save him. ‘But there’s something you don’t know and it will change your mind. I won’t hold you to your proposal.’ She held his eyes, preparing him for the blow as she reached into her pocket and pulled out two miniatures. ‘These are my mothers. Both of them. I am Gismond Brenley’s natural daughter.’
She waited for him to digest that, to translate it into its cruder term: bastard. A child born outside the benefit of wedlock. ‘My mother, the woman who gave birth to me, was a French actress. My father had a woman in every port. She died in childbirth and my father brought me home to his legal, childless wife.’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘Some wives hope their husbands bring home silks and spices from their voyages. Hers brought home a squalling infant, two weeks old.’ It would have been easy for her mother to be furious, to scorn the baby. But her mother had embraced her as her own daughter. ‘All I have of my birth mother is my looks and my name. She called me Audevere for the French Queen. I have a small miniature of her. I am unmistakably hers.’
‘Oh, my dear girl, I am so sorry.’ Inigo handed the miniatures back to her, but he did not walk away.
‘I’m not,’ Audevere was quick to answer. ‘The woman I know as my mother loved me. I would not have missed her love for the world. My father could have left me at an orphanage, on a church step. He had one noble moment and it was likely the saving of me. My mother never begrudged me my origins.’
* * *
‘And neither do I.’ Inigo stared at the miniatures in her hand. The likeness between Audevere and her birth mother was unmistakable—both blonde, green-eyed beauties with eyes that sparked with a passion for living. So this was the secret she’d harboured in fear all these years, the Sword of Damocles her father had held over her head in order to ensure she did his bidding.
‘But you must,’ Audevere explained. ‘If you marry me, my father will hold the secret of my birth over you in order to ensure your compliance in all things.’ She was insistent. ‘A nobleman cannot take a bastard to wife. You know that as well as I. He would be laughed at, reviled by his peers. He would do anything to prevent that from happening, even participate in my father’s schemes. And he’d be well rewarded.’
Inigo nodded, understanding the complexity of what she’d revealed. ‘This is why you opposed the match with Tremblay.’ But it was more than that. In a wave of shocking clarity, he saw the antecedents of that decision. ‘This is why you broke with Collin, to save him.’
Audevere rose from the bench and Inigo let her go, giving her the space to pace, and she spoke, her hands tight at her waist. ‘It was my father’s idea to threaten to break it off with Collin in order to get him to comply with my father’s wishes to build that road of his in Porth Karrek. My father was disappointed and somewhat surprised by the amount of resistance Collin put up about the road once he understood how many people would be displaced from their homes and forced to relocate under their own power. It would cost people jobs and money they didn’t have. Collin felt it was wrong, but my father didn’t care and wouldn’t listen to his arguments.’
Inigo nodded. He remembered how upset Collin had been over the road and how ashamed he’d been over his own naivety to invest in the scheme without fully understanding the circumstances until it was too late. He’d been proud of his friend for standing up to Brenley even at that late date. But it had not changed Brenley’s mind; it had only forced Brenley to up the stakes and he’d done so with the threat of losing Audevere.
‘When I refused to end my engagement, my father revealed the truth about my parentage. That’s when I agreed to break it off with Collin, because I could see it was in his best interest to let me go. I liked Collin, perhaps I even thought I loved him. I didn’t want to let him go. But I needed to for his own good. So I did what my father asked, not for my father’s sake, or for mine, but for Collin’s.’ The grief on her face touched Inigo at his core. All those years when he’d been blaming her, she’d been suffering, too. She’d told him as much earlier, that evening at the Bradfords’, but to hear the detailed account was heart-rending. She had suffered her grief alone whereas his grief had been shared among friends. ‘I didn’t save him, though, did I? I killed him instead.’
‘No, Aud. He made his choice.’ Inigo went to her and wrapped her in his arms. The words were for them both. There was nothing either of them could have done, he saw that now as he listened to Audevere’s tale. ‘For years, I thought there must have been something I could have done. But when I hear your tale, and see your guilt, I realise that’s not true.’ This whole journey had been moving towards forgiving themselves for Collin.
‘He took his own life and, in doing so, he might have saved mine,’ Audevere whispered, her face pressed to his shoulder. ‘If Collin hadn’t stood up to my father, I wouldn’t have been forced to look more closely at my father’s business dealings, to question how he’d achieved his wealth. I began to see the tactics he used and I began to see my part it in. I had been an unwitting accomplice, another pawn for him to move around his chessboard. I saw, too, how my luxuries had been acquired at the expense of others.’
She paused and tipped her face up to him. ‘I rode over to Porth Karrek one day. I saw the people who’d been displaced by the road my father wanted to bu
ild. I suppose I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted Collin to be wrong. But he wasn’t. Inigo, they were the poorest people I’d ever seen. They were ragged and dirty, living in lean-tos along the side of the road, begging for food, for work. They had nowhere to go. My father had demolished their houses and not compensated them for it. Why should he? They had no voice, no vote. What could they do to him?’
He tried to offer comfort. ‘Collin tried to compensate them, tried to relocate some of them to Hayle on his father’s land, but he couldn’t save them all.’ Inigo remembered the little girl who had died in Collin’s arms as they’d ridden towards his father’s estate. She’d been small and hungry and the slightest chill had carried her off. Collin had wept over her for days, right before he’d set off on his fatal swim.
He smoothed back her hair and framed her face with his hands. ‘I understand why you told me all that and I understand why you fear marrying, Aud. But your father can’t get to me. Your father could never leverage you against me, not your loyalty or your birth. Anything he did would trigger that letter being sent to the King. He would be ruined. You are free to make your own decision.’
‘You are relentless.’ Audevere gave him a faint smile. ‘I think we should both revisit this in a couple of days when emotions have settled and we’re both thinking clearly.’ Then she wrapped her arms about his waist and held him tight. ‘I’ve missed you in my bed, Inigo Vellanoweth.’
Inigo kissed the top of her head. ‘And I’ve missed you in mine.’ She had not accepted his offer, but at least she had not refused him outright. A few days ago, she would have put up a fight. He smiled to himself. The race was not always to the fast. He was making steady progress. And just in time.
* * *
The letter arrived the next day. It was good timing as far as Inigo was concerned. Inigo wanted to get this over with, wanted to get on with his life now that he knew what it was he wanted above all else: a life with Audevere, a life here at Merry Weather with his family. He would have liked to have spent today celebrating his engagement when his friends arrived, but that celebration would have to wait. Audevere had made it plain she would decide nothing until the situation with her father was settled. But none of those things was within his power to ensure. He had to settle instead for what he could celebrate. She had not said no and she had trusted him with the darkest secret of her heart.
‘Should I have waited?’ his father asked as he settled across from him at the desk, the letter already open in front of him.
‘No. Best to get it over with and move on to happier times.’ Inigo scanned it, then read it once more, slowly, a cold smile playing on his lips. ‘Brenley wants me to make an honest woman of his daughter in reparation for having run off with her. He’s in Truro awaiting our response.’ He passed the letter to his father. ‘It seems for once we are in agreement on something.’ How could he and Brenley suddenly be on the same side? Something wasn’t right.
His father reached for his reading glasses. ‘Why does Brenley think he’s in any position to make demands? You’re the one with the letter to the King. I should think that trumps anything Brenley can do.’
‘Brenley is betting that I will protect her, that I will do what it takes to keep her secret safe. If I marry her, he won’t tell the world she’s his natural daughter. And if I do marry her, how can I possibly go to the King and defame my father-in-law without dragging us all into scandal?’ Brenley meant to use Audevere as a double-edged sword. Marry her to protect her, marry her and in Brenley’s mind she became eternal leverage against him. There was no escaping him.
He was glad he’d spoken to her of marriage last night in advance of her father’s letter. He didn’t want her to doubt the source of his offer. His offer came from his heart, not from any sense of obligation, coerced there by her father’s threats.
‘I applaud your sentiment, but let’s be honest about what marriage accomplishes.’ His father looked over the rims of his glasses. ‘Gismond Brenley will be a thorn in your side for ever if you do this. You will never be rid of him. Son, marriage won’t protect either of you. The only person it protects in Gismond Brenley.’ Otherwise the man wouldn’t have suggested the alliance. Inigo saw that now. They’d played right into his hands. They might as well have never left London. How could he marry Audevere now without appearing to capitulate to Brenley? A marriage would allow Brenley to save face. Perhaps Brenley had known that and had liked putting the Sisyphean dilemma to him.
‘Perhaps it’s time to walk away,’ his father offered, prompting an examination of options.
Inigo’s temper blazed at the suggestion. ‘From her? From the vow I made Collin? From all the people who will be Brenley’s victims in the future?’
His father sat back in his chair, hands laced over his flat stomach. ‘How do you propose to stop him?’
They had long played at this exercise when his father had taught him about estate management. His father would propose a problem and Inigo would offer solutions. But back then, it had all been hypothetical.
‘I will send the letter to the King and expose him for everything he’s done and we will ride out the storm.’
He’d show the King what the displaced poor had suffered for the Porth Karrek road that ran ore to the big city factories, the faulty munitions facility whose ammunition Brenley had transported to British troops during the Peninsular Wars. He’d been lauded a hero for his daring run, but one in five bullets had misfired. Soldiers had died counting on those bullets while he’d been awarded his knighthood.
‘He will be angry. He will strike back before he’s down and out entirely,’ his father warned. ‘There will be consequences for such an action.’
‘Then let him challenge me. A duel would settle everything once and for all. I’ll send the note and have Eaton act as my second when he arrives.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
A duel! Audevere backed away from the door and staggered into an alcove. She sat down hard on the little bench set in the niche, grateful for the privacy the spot afforded her. The letter had come. She’d suspected as much when Inigo’s father had summoned him to the office. Duelling was not her father’s way. Her father preferred threats and blackmail, covert actions that occurred behind the scenes in the murky grey area of the law.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. One of them would die, Inigo or her father, and it would be on her head. She’d set up her father to kill the man she loved and she’d set the man she loved up to kill her father. Her conscience was laughing hard at her. This was a dilemma worthy of a Shakespeare play and all because she’d wanted to be free. Now she would have neither her freedom nor the man she loved.
She put a hand to her mouth to hold back the tears. What had she thought to accomplish by bringing Inigo into all this? Why hadn’t she found a way to do this on her own? Perhaps she should have just walked out the door with the clothes on her back one day and taken her chances. If she had done that, none of this would have happened.
None of it, whispered her heart. Not the journey by coach with Inigo all to herself for days on end, not those beautiful nights when he’d made love to her at the inn, not the days at Merry Weather, full of autumn picnics, kite flying and romping on the cliffs with his family, not the chance to purge her guilt to the person to whom it mattered most. To have the chance to love Inigo Vellanoweth even if only for a short time. Would she really want to have missed all that?
She drew a deep breath to steady herself. She’d known it would come to this. There was no purpose in second-guessing herself now. If she really loved him, she’d leave him. He could not be compelled to marry someone who wasn’t there to be married. But that wouldn’t stop the duel. To do that, she had to get to her father first, to try to talk him out of it, to bargain with him. Her father was at the town house in Truro. She would slip away at dawn.
‘There you are!’ Mary Rose startled her. ‘We’ve been looking all ove
r for you. Sarah and I want to practise the Dutch braids you were showing us.’
Audevere gave a small smile and took the girl’s hand. There was no time like the present to start saying her goodbyes. ‘Let’s stop by my room first. There’s some pink ribbon we can use.’
* * *
She made little gifts in her own way the rest of the afternoon; the pink ribbon delighted the girls and she spent time doing puzzles on the library floor with Benny when the rain foiled his plans for an afternoon of kite flying. The gift of time was the best thing she could think of to give the ten-year-old boy. Besides, it was all she had. She remembered how much her mother’s time had meant to her, all those afternoons spent dressing her doll or stitching clothes for it. She played the piano after dinner because the Duchess asked her to and blushed when she complimented her, knowing full well she played aptly but simply.
‘Well, it’s perfect for an evening at home,’ the Duchess assured her as she sat back down to play some more. The girls were doing needlepoint, Benjamin was building with blocks while Inigo and his father read political essays. It was a domestic family scene and the perfection of it put a lump in her throat as she played. She wanted to remember this always. Most of all, she wanted to remember the way Inigo looked right now, sitting beside his father, his gaze serious as he leaned over to share something from his reading. Despite his seriousness, he was at ease. Whatever he’d needed to settle in his mind was settled. His decisions were made and they gave him peace. She wished her decisions came with that same peace. But they seemed to come only with regret: regret if she stayed and regret if she left. Some day she hoped she’d get beyond the regrets.
