Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran)

by Jo Beverley

  He would return in a week and they would marry, after which she and her family would remove to Perriam Manor, which would be ready to receive them.

  Complete with ponies? she wondered, unreasonably affronted by this crisp organization. Even with a businesslike marriage, shouldn’t there be more?

  Her mind turned to Farmer Barnett, so nervous and eager, his skin flushing. That was a proper suitor. Idiot! As if she’d want that, and the idea of sleek Mr. Perriam in such a state was ridiculous. His handwriting expressed him perfectly. It flowed elegantly across the page in straight lines, but with a flourish of fine loops, especially on the capitals.

  Ornate, but easily read.

  Claris knew her own handwriting was nowhere near so fine, and her writing paper of poorer quality, but she would have to reply. She heard footsteps down the stairs and went into the kitchen, relieved to find Athena.

  “Perhaps you should come to Cheynings with me.”

  “Someone must look after your brothers and deal with vacating this place. We’ll have to pack what you want to keep.”

  “Everything.”

  “Even the chipped teapot?”

  “Yes.” Claris knew it was unreasonable, but she couldn’t make rational decisions now. “We can sort through everything later. Make sure to pack anything the twins want, no matter how trivial. Oh, I should deal with it. Cheynings can wait a day or two.”

  “No. You have much to do there.”

  “It’s merely a wedding. Village couples walk to the church without great fuss.”

  “You are not a village woman. Very well, I promise we’ll pack everything, down to the last crumb. Have Perriam arrange baskets and boxes, and a wagon.”

  “He’s already promised that.”

  “I’m not surprised. A clever man.”

  “Which makes him a dangerous enemy.”

  “He’s not your enemy, child.”

  “And I’m not a child.”

  Claris found the paper and sat at the table to write her reply. She hadn’t much need for writing and the ink was thick. She watered it down, but too much, so it was faint.

  She mended the pen and did her best. She assured him that she’d be ready at eleven, then added, “Please come in a chair or similar simple vehicle, for the lane is narrow and I will have only one small trunk.”

  The truth was she hoped to escape Old Barford as inconspicuously as possible. A carriage arriving at Lavender Cottage would be like ringing the church bells.

  The Mad Rector’s daughter was off with that fine gentleman, and in a carriage, no less. What insanity was she up to now?

  * * *

  By eleven Claris was as ready as she’d ever be, dressed in her refurbished green gown, with her least-worn shift and stockings beneath, and her newly trimmed hat on her firmly pinned hair. She wished she were as firm inside. Was she really leaving the place where she’d lived all her life, with a man she hardly knew but was to marry in a week?

  At least her sturdy black shoes were familiar, for she owned only the one pair.

  As the church clock struck, Athena gave her one last inspection and nodded. “The marchioness will appoint a maid to serve you. Don’t let her intimidate you.”

  “A maid? I can look after myself.”

  “Only if you wish to be ridiculous. You will be an honored guest at Cheynings, the betrothed of a fine gentleman. Act your future part.”

  “But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to expect.” She gripped her hands together. “I can’t do this. I can marry him, but not all this!”

  “Part and parcel. Behave at all times as if you belong. Don’t shrink back, don’t babble and fumble, and above all don’t gawk at the house and its contents.”

  “Easy enough to say.”

  “Easy enough to do, if you are resolute.”

  How could she not babble and fumble when already her heart was pounding? Yatta rubbed against her skirts and she picked him up to cuddle. Perhaps she’d take him with her as guard cat.

  “I hear hooves,” Athena said.

  Claris put the cat down and pulled on her plain cloth gloves. Act as if she belonged when the lowest servant would know at a glance that she didn’t?

  Rebellion stirred.

  Let them look down their noses. She was a decent woman of good birth who’d never shamed herself. She was soon to marry the Honorable Peregrine Perriam, son of the Earl of Hernescroft. The boggle-eyed servants wouldn’t know the reason for it, and they could speculate as they willed.

  A rap at the door.

  Ellie went to open it.

  Claris straightened her spine and followed.

  When she reached the door, Perriam indicated the plain, open carriage. “I come simply as commanded, but I fear I still stirred speculation in the village.”

  So he’d guessed her reason. That wasn’t difficult when down the row of cottages heads were poking around doorjambs.

  “My trunk is in the kitchen.”

  He’d brought no servant, and it felt odd to order him, but none of them could carry it. She and Athena had brought it down empty. He showed no objection and carried it out without difficulty. He wasn’t a large man, and she was disconcerted by such strength.

  Sharp enough to cut her throat, and strong enough to throttle her.

  Ellie and Athena were at the door to see her off, and Perriam was standing by the chair to hand her up.

  This was the moment, then.

  This was when everything changed and there could be no return.

  Panic still beat inside and everything ahead frightened her, but Claris also had to fight not to run to the gig, not to clamber in and urge Perriam to speed away. This was escape from poverty and hopelessness. However, when she put her hand in his, cloth glove on leather, she was startled by a sense of intimacy as strong as when he’d grasped her wrist. It reminded her of the price she must pay.

  It would be a marriage in name only, she reminded herself even as his grip tightened slightly as he assisted her up into the plain wooden seat.

  He let go and circled to climb into the driver’s seat. She felt the absence of that grip as freedom but also as loss. What a muddled mess she was today! A nervous, apprehensive mess.

  The vehicle swayed as he sat. The gray horse took a step forward. Claris clutched at the curved iron that formed an arm of the seat, alarmed by this literally unsteady world. She’d rarely traveled in any sort of vehicle, and she looked back toward the cottage, toward the place she knew and understood, no matter how drab it was.

  He picked up the reins and set the horse into action, and the chance was lost.

  As they passed the other cottages he nodded to her peering neighbors. She took her cue and inclined her head, trying to look at ease. Would any of them dare to pester Athena with questions?

  When they arrived at the village green, Claris saw that an unusual number of people had found business there today. Even the new rector, Reverend Cudlingston, was at his doorway, watching. When he learned that the Mallows were leaving, he’d probably hold a ceremony of gratitude, and it could be well attended.

  When they’d left the village and only fields lay to either side, Perriam said, “Wise of you not to want to marry there.”

  “They’re not bad people, but my parents weren’t endearing.”

  “They don’t dislike you. I was warned at the inn not to cause you any harm.”

  “Were you? By whom?”

  “The innkeeper and someone called Old Matt.”

  Claris had to smile. “I doubt the threat had any more teeth than he had.”

  “Oh, it did. Grannie Mallow would put the evil eye on me.”

  She put a hand to her face. “And she encourages them for her own amusement. I’ve been in a constant fret that she’d end up in court.”

  “Witchcraft isn’t a crime anymore.”

  “That’s a blessing, but I’ll be glad to see her away from the village. She and Ellie will appreciate the comforts of Perriam Manor.”

&nb
sp; See, I do this for others, not for myself.

  “Ellie is your grandmother’s servant?”

  “Yes, since they were young women.”

  “Since your grandmother fled her marriage. What’s the story there?”

  “I don’t know. Only that her husband was intolerable and she left. Left her young son as well.”

  “It would be unusual that she be allowed to take him. A daughter, perhaps, but not a son. An only son?”

  “Yes. She claims she never had tender feelings for my father, but I wonder if that can be true.”

  “Why not? There are no inevitable emotions, not even for parents.”

  “None?”

  “None. My own parents were rarely at Herne House to see us grow up. For which, I assure you, we were grateful.”

  “How odd.”

  “You wouldn’t have preferred that your parents be elsewhere?”

  “Infinitely. I meant that it’s odd to be so careless of children. Poorly raised children become bothersome adults, and then they’re less easy to ignore.”

  “I assure you, my parents took great care over us, especially in the choice of people to guard and guide us. Their visitations to Herne were more in the nature of inspections, and flaws were rigorously corrected.”

  “You feared them?”

  “Enough to curb any wilder impulses, at least. Some others I judged worth the beating.”

  “Do you calculate everything?”

  “Do you not? I recommend it.”

  Claris realized that again he was conversing to allow her nerves to settle. She resented the efficiency of it but appreciated the effect.

  The horse’s pace was steady and the day quite pleasant, with only light clouds in the sky. All around colors were shifting from summer green toward autumn gold. They passed a field where hay was being cut, and the sweet smell wafted over. Some of the workers paused to look. Old Barford people observing the departure of the Mad Rector’s daughter.

  She’d never return. She knew that with certainty.

  Her future lay ahead, and also by her side. Their clothes were in contact, and when the gig swayed or jolted, they moved closer, making her simmer with something disturbing. She was unused to being close to a man. In fact, she’d never been so close.

  It made her think of intimacies, marital intimacies that weren’t going to happen, but she thought of them anyway. She didn’t know much, but when not raving about hell’s flames, her father had often detailed from the pulpit the sins that might send a person there.

  Sinful lustings and burnings.

  The devil’s fires within.

  The brief flame of passion that led to an eternity of pain.

  She shifted on the seat, feeling rather hot. . . .

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Not at all.”

  His attention was on the road.

  He clearly felt no heat.

  Of course not.

  “As we travel, let me prepare you for what lies ahead,” he said. “Ashart comes from a grand line, and his life was all court and the beau monde until recently. Marriage and fatherhood have given him a taste for rural pursuits, but he’s still a magnate to the bone.”

  Claris was glad of a new focus. “I should kiss his feet?” she asked, to show she wasn’t overwhelmed.

  “Not even his ring. He’ll be courteous and perhaps kind, but he can’t help his grand manner. Lady Ashart comes from a simpler family. Her father is a naval captain, now retired, and she was born and raised following him on ship and shore. In bloodline she could be less exalted than you.”

  That could be a comfort, but Claris had seen the marchioness a few times. She was gloriously beautiful and at ease in her role.

  “The Asharts have been married less than two years. They have an infant, Calliope, called Callie, and are fond enough parents to sometimes bring her into company. Fortunately, she’s a good-natured sprite. Cheynings is a handsome house, but it and the estate were neglected for many years. He’s restoring it, but it’s a work in progress.”

  “I’m unlikely to complain of spots of damp.”

  “You won’t find any, but some rooms are scantily furnished and the library lacks books. Mildew and worm,” he explained with a smile.

  Claris smiled back. She should probably resist his efforts, but she was enjoying a long, rational conversation, especially about something other than her own affairs.

  “How was such neglect allowed?” she asked.

  “That’s too long a story for this short journey, but it means I can’t easily research your grandmother’s story. Do you know her maiden name?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Grand connections will be useful at Perriam Manor. The local gentry will be curious about your antecedents.”

  Claris’s comfort dissolved. “Not if I don’t meet them.”

  “You mean to be a recluse?”

  She realized that, yes, she’d thought her life would be the same as at Lavender Cottage, only with more rooms and a lot more comfort. How stupid. Even if the gentry around Old Barford had never accepted her parents, she knew how they lived, constantly visiting and entertaining.

  “I won’t know how to behave. They’ll see that I’m an imposter.”

  “They will not. You’ll be the Honorable Mistress Peregrine Perriam and entitled to respect.”

  The idea was too much. “I can’t do this. I can’t!”

  He drew the horse to a halt. “You’re made of tougher stuff, Claris.”

  “No, I’m not. You don’t understand. I’ve never mingled with the gentry. My mother complained bitterly about being excluded.”

  “With reason.”

  “Why? She wasn’t of their sort—her father was a timber merchant—and my father made no attempt to play their games. In fact, he often insulted them from the pulpit. So you see, it won’t work.”

  He took her hand. “A lady takes the station of her husband. If necessary, I’ll assert that.”

  For the first time she saw the Honorable Peregrine Perriam, son of an earl. He frightened her, but there was comfort in his firm grasp and his words.

  He would take steps.

  If anyone insulted her, he would take steps.

  “Trust me?” he said, his blue eyes seeming warm.

  “What choice do I have?”

  She immediately regretted her tone but wouldn’t apologize. She took her hand from his.

  “Place no reliance on my grandmother coming from a grand family. If it existed, my mother would have used it for social leverage.”

  He set the horse to move on. “Your grandmother has the air.”

  “She puts on airs.”

  “I’ve encountered brilliant imposters, but I’d lay money on your grandmother being exactly as she seems, a highborn but eccentric lady. I’ll find out in Town.”

  “Such a direct way with a puzzle.”

  “You resent that? You’re not slow and timid, Claris, and I hope in time you’ll blossom into a true thistle.”

  “A thistle?”

  “Standing tall and armed with prickles.”

  A laugh escaped. “At my height I can never stand tall.”

  “Standing tall has little to do with height.” He leaned slightly to take something out of a pocket and then offered a purse made of cream cloth embroidered with flowers, its neck held closed with a gold cord. “Some coins for vails.”

  She took it, feeling its weight. “Vails?”

  “Small monetary gifts for the servants, especially when a guest leaves. I’ll attend to that when we leave Cheynings, but you may want to reward someone for a particular service whilst there, such as your maid.”

  That terrifying lady’s maid.

  Even through her cotton gloves she could feel the quality of the cloth. She was sure it was silk, embroidered silk. It was the prettiest thing she’d ever owned, and he’d given it to her so carelessly. Silk also stirred memories. Memories she couldn’t cope with in this f
raught situation.

  “Thank you,” she said, and put it in her right-hand pocket.

  The silence felt awkward, so she wasn’t surprised when he filled it with a story about a feud between the Marquess of Ashart’s family, the Trayces, and the Marquess of Rothgar’s, the Mallorens.

  Marquesses! How had her life come to this?

  It seemed to originate in an unfortunate marriage but had risen to heights from there.

  “I’ve been accustomed to thinking that mine was the only hellish family,” she said, “but now I wonder if there are any happy ones.”

  “I have friends who are making promising beginnings, and two sisters who seem content. You can see Cheynings ahead.”

  Perhaps a grand house should offer security, but Claris found the enormous pale building with pillars and pediment simply terrifying.

  Chapter 12

  The house seemed to grow in size as they approached.

  Its width could encompass Old Barford and all its inhabitants, and the pillared front rose above her, impossibly high. What need had any person of so much space?

  The massive front doors at the top of a dozen or more steps stayed resolutely closed. That didn’t surprise her at all. They were rejecting the unworthy intruder.

  Perriam turned to the side, seeking a more suitable entrance. But then he drew up beneath a portico that had its own grand pillars and where two powdered footmen in blue velvet laced with silver stood ready. The sort of servants who’d see through her pretensions in a moment. Their blank expressions already showed their opinion of the unlikely guest, and they hadn’t had a good look at her clothing yet.

  She was wearing her best gown, but it wasn’t good enough. The green skirt might look sprigged, but the material was only a cheap print. The new braid and embroidery were hasty work. Even her newly trimmed hat seemed laughable, and how could she enter this grand house in her well-worn shoes, which had tramped the roads and fields?

  Perriam came himself to hand her down, and she was grateful for that, but as he turned her toward the door, she wanted to mutter, This is impossible—you must see that. But she did not. Act as if you belong here, she reminded herself and forced her head high. She glanced up once at the high ceiling of the corridor—the height of the entire cottage!—but then remembered not to gawk.