Attack instead of defence, he noted. Excellent, much better than crocodile tears and fainting spells.
“The Rosewall girl has you utterly bewitched,” she continued. “Running around like a half-naked savage in that revealing outfit! She was the subject of talk all evening and now you announce to the world that you’re marrying the chit?”
“Be careful how you speak of my fiancée, mother,” he warned.
She huffed dismissively.
“You’re supposed be marrying a woman of quality like Lady Abigail Houghall.”
“Quality? And what qualities would they be?” James scoffed. “Avarice, lust, envy and pride are hardly qualities to boast about.
“But be sure, this is the final time we’ll be discussing Abigail.
“In the meantime, I’ve had Selina moved to the suite next to grandmother until the wedding, and I expect you to treat her with the all the courtesy and respect due her as my bride.”
Christina's eyes flared. “I will not let that woman become mistress of Penventen Hall!” she vowed, stamping her foot for emphasis.
“That hardly matters since I’m not truly the master here either, am I?” James responded harshly. “You’ve seen to that too.”
His response was plainly unexpected. Open-mouthed for a second, she seemed to be grasping for a reply. James waited.
“Who have you been speaking to?” she asked darkly.
“It hardly matters. The rumour seemed well enough known at the time of your wedding,” he parried. “My main question is why it should make a strategic appearance after the death of my father? Just how close are you and Lord Randall? I seem to recall now that he spent a lot of time visiting when father was away.
“Bringing Geoffrey with him was a convenient excuse, wasn’t it? While two little boys played in the garden, you played the whore in the bedroom.”
An angry slap across James’ cheek brought the exchange to a halt. Mother and son stared at each other angrily for a moment.
“At least you’re not further insulting me by denying it,” James muttered.
Lady Christina seemed then to sag. She crossed listlessly to the settee and didn’t so much sit as fall into the cushions.
“I suppose you want to hear the truth?” she asked tiredly.
“It would make a pleasant change.”
James sat on the corner of his desk and crossed his arms, steeling himself for the revelation.
His mother looked away, suddenly appearing to find fascinating a painting on the wall to her left—a small, inconsequential hunting scene. She began to speak in a brittle voice.
“Randall and I were lovers long before I married your father. We were discreet for the protection of my reputation and, in order to keep our secret, I cultivated a suite of suitors, all the better to hide the truth.
“Randall was formally unattached when we began but he was obliged to go through with his arranged marriage to Baroness Sophia. I would have been content to remain his mistress except I discovered I was...” Her eyes flickered involuntarily towards James for a split second. “with child.”
She looked down momentarily, as if gathering her thoughts. When she raised her face again, though still unable to look at James, her expression had hardened.
“Edward Mitchell was an honourable man as well as one with means.”
She betrayed a moue of distaste at that word.
“So I seduced him and told him three weeks later that I was pregnant. We married immediately. “Oh, there was talk as there always is with hasty weddings and sudden confinements. He was aware of the rumours, but he maintained that you were his son. But I... I resented the useless cuckold and his damnable honour. All the more when it became evident that he couldn’t father his own children.
“In the meantime, Sophia bore Geoffrey six months after you were born and she died just three years later giving birth to child number four.
“One night soon after, I had enough of Edward trying to mount me and I told him the truth. I begged him to set me aside.”
Lady Christina offered a bitter laugh.
“Do you know what that fool said to me?”
James’ lips were drawn tight and he gave a curt shake of his head.
Lady Christina’s gaze fell on the portrait of Edward Mitchell that hung over the fireplace behind her son.
“He said he didn’t care. He was in love with me and was proud to claim you as his.
“I hated him until the day he died.”
James pushed away from the desk and turned his back to her, looking up at the portrait, staring into the face of the man he had called Father. He could not speak.
His mother broke the silence.
“Edward might have been a fool in love but he was no fool as a lawyer. Your inheritance is safe. You are secured as Lord Penventen. There will be no other claimants.
“And, yes, Randall is considering acknowledging you as his eldest son and heir. It would appear Geoffrey is a disappointment to him.”
James felt sick to his stomach. Without saying a word, he sat down at his desk, found a pencil and paper and started making notes.
After a few moments, he raised his eyes to his mother who remained on the settee.
“Madam, you should know that I will deny the Earl’s acknowledgement and any offer of inheritance,” he said gravely. “As far as I and anyone else are concerned, I am James Mitchell, son of Edward Mitchell.”
Lady Christina straightened.
“My father wouldn’t set you aside, but I will. From next month you will no longer be able to draw on my credit. Instead, you will have a pension that, if you’re frugal, will allow you to live modestly well for the rest of your days. You will have a town house in Mayfair and a small house in Truro.
“You will leave Penventen while Selina and I are on our honeymoon and any future communication between us will be through my lawyer.”
James was prepared for her to bluster or go into hysterics, but she surprised him by calmly nodding.
“Thank you. You’re most generous, son.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
5 August 1790
Selina drew her tongue nervously over her lips as she watched the groomsman saddle the bay mare. For the third time that morning she looked over at her rose riding habit with a view to actually wearing the outfit for its intended purpose.
“I have to confess, James. I’ve never learned to ride.”
He laughed.
“Please. Could we not walk instead?”
James refused with a grin.
“It will be another of your accomplishments as wife of a baronet,” he said, supervising the addition of wicker panniers onto his horse, a large chestnut stallion.
James looked, in Selina's estimation, particularly handsome in his tan riding breeches, linen shirt and navy blue riding jacket. She admired the way the jacket's crop to the waist accented his figure.
“Besides,” he continued, “I intend to have you all to myself today, so I want to be as far away from the house as possible.”
Now Selina smiled too. She had missed their late evening rendezvous, and if it took learning to ride a beast to be alone with him, then it would be a small price to pay.
After a twenty minute instruction on basic horsemanship, Selina was confidently controlling the gentle mare around the stable grounds.
Then James set a walking pace up the hill away from Padstow across open fields towards the cemetery about a mile away from Penventen Hall.
There they dismounted—Selina somewhat stiffly—and James tied their horses at the post by the gate.
Walking in, Selina observed how many of the headstones were weathered by the ferocious wind and rain that lashed that part of Cornwall. Other, more recent markers glistened freshly in the sunlight.
The elderly sexton, who lived at the edge of the village, supervised a couple of the village youngsters slashing the tall grass with scythes at the far wall of the graveyard. He doffed his hat in greeting from the dis
tance, and James acknowledged him with a raise of his hand.
Selina didn’t need to be told which was Edward Mitchell’s grave.
Whatever Lady Christina’s ambivalence about her husband in life, she made sure that he was suitably commemorated in death with an impressive monument made from locally quarried greenstone.
As Selina approached the marker, the Mitchell name, chiselled in sharp relief on the plinth, caught the morning sun, which caused it to stand out even more strongly.
This was to become her name in a little more than two weeks time.
Glancing back at James by her shoulder, she saw his lips set in a thin, straight line. This was his first visit to the grave since the confrontation with his mother. He was holding his emotions on a tight rein.
Selina's heart filled with compassion and love for him. She couldn’t begin to fathom the turmoil of emotions he had experienced on learning of his true origins. He had done his best to ensure it didn’t cast a shadow over their wedding, but a long day preparing a brief for his solicitor, who was expected to arrive from London shortly, had taken a toll.
She took James' hand and read the inscription.
Here lies
Sir Edward Mitchell
Lord Penventen
5th Baronet
1732-1789
Aged 57 years
“I wish I had taken the time to understand him better when he was alive—the way I believe I know him now,” said James after a while.
“I knew what my mother was, and like everyone else I thought he was weak.
“I can’t begin to tell you of the surprise I had when he encouraged me to leave after the affair with Abigail. At first I thought he was glad to simply have the scandal quickly disappear, but I see now that he was telling me to escape, to do the thing he was incapable of doing.”
“There’s something else,” Selina added softly.
James turned to her with a question in the tilt of his head.
“What would have happened to that little boy had your father left? What would have happened to you? I think your father knew that and he stayed to give you everything he was capable of giving, including permission to find your own way.
“I think he would be proud of the man you are today.”
James enfolded her in his arms under the dappled shade of a nearby tree, drawing comfort from her and whispering words of thankfulness and love.
The elderly sexton glanced over, saw the couple embracing, and smiled.
James and Selina's ride continued with a lesson in brisk trotting. From the graveyard, they moved along the headland then down onto the beach at Iron Cove where James encouraged Selina to bring the mare to a gallop along the hard-packed sand.
She began to understand that despite the mare’s size, controlling her was not so difficult after all. Once you understood the animal and had mastery of the reins, subtle shifts of movement effortlessly communicated between rider and horse.
The sun had travelled well past its zenith, its afternoon trajectory heading towards banking clouds that had emerged along the western horizon, by the time James and Selina stopped for lunch. They sat in the lee of a grove of trees that hid the cliff edge, but not the pounding of the surf below, or the salt air tang the wind brought with it.
After dining, they lay side by side on the blanket Selina recognised from their moonlight picnic weeks earlier. Together they watched the sky begin to fill with clouds; tiny, innocent and white at first, but growing steadily larger and becoming darker shades of grey.
“We’re in for bad weather tonight,” Selina observed.
James nodded in agreement. He rolled onto his side and observed his bride-to-be.
His gaze followed the shape of her forehead, her delicate nose, her cheeks and sensuous lips, and down over the perfect outline of her breasts to her waist, taking in the flare of her hips and eyeing her legs and neat black booted feet.
He allowed his fingers to trace a portion of the journey his eyes had undertaken a moment before, his hand coming to rest on her hip.
Selina sighed languorously and, as James’ lowered himself to capture her lips—which opened to receive him eagerly—she pressed herself to him.
They kissed and touched each other for long minutes before James pulled away from her lips and concentrated his efforts at her earlobe.
“Let’s elope,” he breathed. “Let’s leave everyone here with their grand wedding plans and tiered wedding cakes and boring guest lists. We can be in Gretna Green within a week.”
“It’s tempting,” Selina sighed. “But it's only two weeks more.”
“Two weeks and three days,” James grumbled, rolling away from her. Selina giggled and sat up.
“Let me come to you this evening,” she asked, stroking his back with trailing fingers. “My bed is too large, cold and lonely for one, and yours must be even more so.”
“Why, Miss Rosewall! Are you trying to seduce me?” James teased.
“If you have to ask, then I fear I must be doing it wrong,” Selina responded in kind.
“Have you no care? Won’t you think of my reputation?”
“And what reputation would that be?”
His answer was heavy with irony: “A reputation for being the luckiest bastard in England.”
James swooped back in for a kiss.
“Have I told you how much I love you, Selina?” he asked.
“You have and it seems that I don’t get tired of hearing it,” she answered. “Nor do I tire of telling you how much I love you in return.”
Their embrace was interrupted by a gust of wind and a dark cloud scudding across the sun, turning off the light in their picnic place almost as surely as an extinguished candle. The weather had turned.
As James repacked the saddle panniers, Selina kept watch on the sky. This had the potential to be a bad storm.
After a few minutes of riding, Selina edged her horse closer to James'. The wind had increased in strength and was now howling through the trees. She was certain that they had changed course subtly in the last minute and were moving further away from the direction of the Hall and closer to Gunver Head.
“Why are we moving away from the Hall?” she called.
James put a hand up and brought his mount to a halt.
“Wait here,” he ordered.
James dismounted and disappeared into the thicket ahead.
A low rumble of thunder announced itself in the distance, and Selina bent low to give her horse a reassuring pat on the neck.
* * *
James had heard snatches of sound carried on the gusts of wind, the noise of hammers, and of voices yelling instructions. He stayed as close to the hawthorn bushes as he could without snagging himself until he reached the edge of a clearing. He remained hidden and looked upon the activity in front of him.
Six men were erecting what appeared to be a temporary scaffold of timber, pegs, and ropes. He watched four of the men mate two thick timber beams at a single point and lift it to form a jib. From its apex, a sturdy iron pulley swung in the wind.
A temporary crane, James realised. That was how the wreckers were able to quickly take cargo up from the wreck of the Pandora.
The purpose of the metal eyebolt and spars he and Jackson had seen driven into the cliff face now made sense as guides and tie-points for the ropes.
As James watched, the lowering clouds overhead deepened from charcoal to black as the storm started its approach to shore. Suddenly, lightning split the sky and with it came the first drops of rain.
Behind the following boom of thunder, James heard a scream and realised it came not from the seabirds retreating to shore for shelter, but from Selina. He turned and made his way as fast as he could back towards her. Rain spattered the ground with increasing impatience as James burst from the thicket.
He saw a man silhouetted against the sullen sky grabbing the bridle of Selina’s mount. The horse tugged back, trying to free itself from him. Unable to do so, the animal started to
buck.
“Selina!”
James ran towards the scene as Selina tried to control the horse.
He watched her kick out at the man with one foot but it was not enough to dislodge his hand.
Yard upon yard James closed on them, calling Selina’s name once more.
The man looked at him and in one swift movement released Selina's ankle and, snatched a pistol from his pocket.
Even at the sight of the pistol coming up to point at him, James ran headlong at the man.
Selina kicked her assailant again, landing a glancing blow to his shoulder just as he fired.
He saw the flash at the muzzle and felt the ball hurtle past his head.
The sound of the report merged with a clap of thunder. Selina’s horse reared and she was thrown to the ground.
The man sidestepped as James came on and fled. Seeing his retreat, James yelled after him in impotent fury and threw himself to his knees beside Selina.
He called her name and tapped her face gently to rouse her, and after a moment she opened her eyes and tried to speak, but no words came out. James found his panic ebbing as Selina squeezed his hand strongly to reassure him.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked.
Selina blinked the rain from her eyes and sought to answer the question.
“Everywhere,” she said.
“But no place worse than any other?”
Selina shook her head and James assisted her to her feet. She leaned against him heavily. Bruised and winded, he guessed.
A glance around told him her mare had fled into the gloom and roiling rain and wind, along with her assailant. Without pause, James pushed her towards his horse and mounted before reaching down to pull Selina onto his lap. She collapsed gracelessly against his chest.
She was going into shock.
“Stay with me sweetheart, I need you hold on tight,” he instructed as he wheeled his horse around and encouraged it at a gallop towards Penventen Hall.
James pushed his horse as fast as he dared. Time was of the essence—not only to get Selina home safely, but also to give warning about the wreckers on the cliffs.
As the lights from the Hall emerged out of the lashing rain, he chanced a glance down at Selina. Her head was tucked into his shoulder, protecting her face from the downpour; her breath warmed his sodden shirt.
Moonstone Obsession Page 21
