by Jo Beverley
Chapter 42
Perry suspected it was unwise to have come to Paris, but he had no idea how long his parents would remain, and matters could not wait. He couldn’t bear it. A week severed from Claris had been too long, but he’d lasted two before traveling here.
His father kept a house in Paris, but when Perry arrived at the Hotel Hernescroft he learned that his parents were at Versailles. Hardly surprising, though he’d never liked the monstrous palace as much as they did. He left Auguste settling in and went out in search of amusement. Auguste was ecstatic to be back in France. He was going to be distraught when faced with life spent mostly in the countryside. Adieu, Auguste.
He went to a favorite coffeehouse and found some friends from a number of nationalities. They demanded the latest news from London and shared what they knew from Rome, Vienna, Madrid, and other cities. Familiar ground and he enjoyed it.
Could he do without it?
He was carried off to a card party and then to the theater and returned home late to find his parents already retired. Had he deliberately avoided an encounter?
He certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.
If he sought to avoid it the next day, any chance was taken away when his father came into his room while he was still breakfasting. The earl was swathed in a robe of brown brocade with a red velvet turban on his bald head.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, sitting on a chair. “Trouble?”
The piece of perfect brioche Perry had been enjoying turned dry in his mouth. He washed it down with coffee. “Not particularly, sir.” He framed an excuse for his visit to Paris but made himself speak the truth. “I have a matter to discuss with you.”
“Yes?”
“To do with Perriam Manor.”
“Yes?”
If anything, his father was bored. The issue of Perriam Manor was settled and of no further interest.
“When I persuaded Claris to marry me, sir, I promised her Perriam Manor.”
“Foolish of you. But I understand you’ve fixed it with Pranksworth that she’ll be able to live out her life there if you die first. Weak of him, but then, he is.”
“If I die whilst you’re still alive, you’d throw her out?”
His father narrowed his eyes. “Watch your tone, sir. Watch your tone! I’d give the tenancy to Rupert.”
The biggest bully of the lot.
This was the moment.
“I’ve come here, Father, to tell you that I intend to keep my promise to my wife. To change my will so that she inherits Perriam Manor, and our eldest son after her.”
Purple rage rose in his father’s face so quickly it brought back childhood fears. Perry couldn’t stop himself from leaping to his feet and putting the table between them.
“You will not,” his father stated.
Absolute.
Undeniable.
“I misspoke,” Perry said, proud of his steady tone despite his hammering heart. His father had no physical power over him. He had to remember that. “I should have said, I have already changed my will. Murdering me now will not serve your purpose.”
His father surged to his feet. “You dare to joke about this, to my face! Put this right, or you are no son of mine.”
Worse than he’d expected, but suddenly, and blessedly, Perry didn’t care. His father was ridiculous with his purple face and fat body. His parents had never shown any fondness for their offspring. They had simply regarded them as puppets, to do as they were bid.
“So be it,” he said calmly. “I regret any division between us, Father, but I must do as the Bible says, and cleave to my wife.”
“Bible! Bible! Do you dare claim moral superiority when you break the chief commandment? Honor thy father and thy mother, sir! Honor thy father and thy mother !”
He clearly expected instant repentance. When it didn’t come, the purple drained away, leaving his father pale. It wasn’t, however, a weak pallor.
“Leave this house immediately,” the earl said in a flat tone. “I never want to see you again.”
He turned and left the room.
Perry collapsed into his chair, not surprised to find he was shaking. He was very surprised by his reaction, however.
He felt free. Remarkably, astonishingly free.
* * *
Claris was in the frosted garden, surveying her work with satisfaction.
“What on earth’s going on?”
She whirled, smiling. A second later she knew she should have frowned, but Perry was here! He was here. In riding clothes, as when they’d first met, and as back then, she was in her sole surviving black gown, made worse by an old knitted shawl against the sharp air. Old clothes had seemed necessary for this work.
She managed not to throw herself into his arms, but her heart was racing and she couldn’t stop the smile.
“I’ve had all the yews cut down. The men and horses are pulling up the roots. Don’t you dare disapprove.”
“I don’t. But why?”
“Look.” She gestured to the memorials.
He came closer. “By God.”
She couldn’t read his reaction. “Do you think it a good idea?”
“Inspired. They look so peaceful.”
He went closer and she walked with him.
The young sculptor sent by Cheere had instantly seen what she’d wanted and perhaps had felt as she did. Skillfully he’d chipped away the blankets and revealed, as if by magic, heads below. Sleeping babes, each a little different, but all looking peaceful and even happy in their sleep.
Instead of plinths, they lay on low stones carved to look like beds, their heads on soft pillows. One, the girl, Beatrice, had a sleeping kitten beneath a chubby hand.
Perry turned to her. “It’s like a miracle.”
“There’ll be a flower bed around each. The sort of flowers to attract bees and butterflies so there’ll always be life here. A fountain too once I work out how to make it play.”
Even as she spoke, she was remembering. He’d betrayed her. He’d broken his word, and she shouldn’t forgive him. He seemed to read her mind.
“I’ve come to throw myself on your mercy,” he said. “I’m not asking for forgiveness, but for sustenance.”
“What are you talking about?”
He indicated they should move away from the interested men, so she walked with him toward the front of the manor.
“I’ve corrected my misdeed. The manor will be yours upon my death, to do with as you wish.”
She looked into his eyes. “Truly?”
“Truly. From now on, I promise you the complete truth.”
“But your father?”
“Has disowned me. You’ll have to feed and house me.”
“Perry, I’m sorry. How could he?”
“Without a qualm. If I won’t obey, I’m no use to him. I have some money, but the allowance he gave has stopped. My other income was from various positions in Town. I can’t keep them if I’m here most of the time.”
Claris was feeling breathless and seriously wondering if she’d fallen into a dreaming sleep. “Here? Most of the time?”
“If you’ll have me. I won’t break our agreement. Perriam Manor is yours, and you rule here.”
She took both his hands. “Of course I’ll have you! I’ve been miserable without you. But you don’t have to spend most of your time here. Truly. We can manage.”
His hands tightened on hers. “I want to be with you, day and night. I defy you to claim your misery has been greater than mine.”
“Swords or pistols?” she demanded.
He matched her grin. “I’d win at either.” He pulled her in for a hot kiss and then held her tight. “I never imagined a love like this, Claris. It’s utterly deranged me, but I’d have it no other way.”
“Nor I.” She moved back to look at him. “But I hope you don’t intend to avoid Town entirely. There’s so much there I want to explore.”
“I can’t afford a home there.”
She touched his cheek, moved by the sacrifice he’d made for her. “We’ll find the money to rent one. I have a number of ideas to improve the manor’s income.”
He kissed her palm. “I’m sure you do, my amazing Claris. And I confess, I don’t plan to be idle here. I believe I can still be useful, which might lead to remuneration, especially if the king continues to see me as a miracle worker.”
“You’ve been performing miracles?” she said, smiling because she couldn’t stop. She linked arms with him. “Come in and tell me all.”
Despite it being not yet noon, she had a destination in mind, but Ellie came to meet them at the door. She seemed to understand the situation in a moment, for she beamed her special smile. “How lovely, dearies. You’ve finally sorted everything out.”
How the twins knew, she couldn’t imagine, but they came cantering up on their ponies and leapt off to rush over.
“Perry!”
“You’re home!”
He let them crush him in a hug, though Claris could see he was for once unsure of what to do. A hand on each lad’s head, he smiled over at her.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m home.”
Author’s Note
I hope you’ve enjoyed Perry and Claris’s dance of love in Seduction in Silk.
This book came to me with the opening scene, and then I had to figure out what it was all about. I loved the atmosphere of the curse, but, like Perry and Claris, I don’t really believe in them, so what was I going on? I didn’t find out until late in the book, because that’s how I write—discovering as I go.
The political background of the book is accurate. The Seven Years’ War is over, but France and Great Britain were still vying for control of the world—in Europe, North America, Asia, and on the high seas. It wouldn’t truly end until Waterloo in 1815. Of course the American colonies are simmering, but as we know, Rothgar will succeed in keeping Canada for Britain. I’m sure Cyn will do well in his business dealings there.
There was plenty of espionage going on, but the events there are from my imagination. However, the way Thomas and James Brown stole from men in London is all true. Their trial is recorded at the Old Bailey. James was sentenced to death but Thomas was acquitted, for reasons that aren’t clear to me.
There was also a case of a prosperous man, engaged to wed and with all to live for, who shot himself. As best I know no one had an explanation for that, but it gave me an idea for the novel. This is why I love browsing magazines, newspapers, and sites like the Old Bailey online. They’re full of stories.
I can’t explain the “smothered babes.” They were just there, and they certainly provided a challenge to Claris and to me. I was glad to discover that marble could be resculpted, and above all, patched. I hope you approve of Claris’s solution.
The monument to Captain James Cornewall is real, and can be seen in Westminster Abbey. You can see it and other marble memorials on my Pinterest page: pinterest.com/jobeverley/seduction-in-silk/. There are a number of other pictures relevant to the novel.
Sir Henry Cheere was a real person (1703–January 15, 1781). He was a poor boy made good, rising from an apprentice to become knighted in 1760. Louis-François Roubiliac was also a real person.
Georgian London in the 1760s was a fascinating place, and the nobility didn’t all fritter away their time and gamble away their inheritance. It was the Enlightenment, and many were fascinated by science and technology and helping Britain grow into the great industrial power it would become, either by being patrons of the enterprising or by being enterprising themselves.
James Ferguson was one person helped by the wealthy to develop his natural skills. He really did begin life as a poor country lad and rise to make wonderful models and machines and give lectures in London.
I like to use real people as background characters when I can—which means when they won’t mess up my story!
Seduction in Silk is set in my Malloren World, so called because it began with five books about the Malloren family, ruled by the Marquess of Rothgar. Since then there have been eight other romances about people connected one way or another to the Mallorens, but I let them onstage only when they’re relevant to the story at hand.
You can find a list of the Malloren World novels here: www.jobev.com/malloren.html.
Two of them—My Lady Notorious and Devilish—won RITA Awards, the top award in romance writing.
I also write in the Regency, and I have two series of books there. The first are traditional Regency romances (www.jobev.com/tradreg.html). Two of these won RITAs—Emily and the Dark Angel and Deirdre and Don Juan. The second series are Regency historicals woven around a group of men who met at Harrow School and stayed close. These are the Company of Rogues, but some of the books are about their friends, and even an enemy or two.
There’s a RITA winner here too, An Unwilling Bride (http://www.jobev.com/reghist.html).
Please visit my Web site, hwww.jobev.com, for other interesting information about my books, and if you’d like to receive my occasional newsletter, you can sign up there.
I’m on Facebook at www.facebook.com/jo.beverley and occasionally I tweet.
Fiction serves many interesting purposes, but an important one is sheer pleasure. I hope that is what I have given you.
All best wishes,
Jo
Dear Reader,
My next book will move forward to the Regency, to my Rogue’s World, and tell the story of David Kerslake, brother of the heroine of The Dragon’s Bride. In the excerpt below—the opening of The Dragon’s Bride—you meet him as Captain Drake, smuggling master of the south Devon coast. A year later, when his own book opens, he has even greater responsibilities and is having to seek a rich bride.
The one he chooses, however, will not be an easy catch.
The Dragon’s Bride is available in print and as an e-book. David’s book will be out in April 2014.
All best wishes,
Jo
May 1816
The south coast of England
T he moon flickered briefly between windblown clouds, but such a thread-fine moon did no harm. It barely lit the men creeping down the steep headland toward the beach, or the smuggling master controlling everything from above.
It lightened not at all the looming house that ruled the cliffs of this part of Devon—Crag Wyvern, the fortresslike seat of the blessedly absent Earl of Wyvern.
Absent like the riding officer charged with preventing smuggling in this area. Animal sounds—an owl, a gull, a barking fox—carried across the scrubby landscape, constantly reporting that all was clear.
At sea, a brief flash of light announced the arrival of the smuggling ship. On the rocky headland, the smuggling master—Captain Drake as he was called—unshielded a lantern in a flashing pattern that meant “all clear.”
All clear to land brandy, gin, tea, and lace. Delicacies for Englishmen who didn’t care to pay extortionate taxes. Profit for smugglers, with tea sixpence a pound abroad and selling for twenty times that in England if all the taxes were paid.
In the nearby fishing village of Dragon’s Cove, men pushed boats into the waves and began the urgent race to unload the vessel.
“Captain Drake” pulled out a spyglass to scan the English Channel for other lights, other vessels. Now that the war against Napoleon was over, navy ships were patrolling the coast, better equipped and manned than the customs boats had ever been. A navy cutter had intercepted the last major run, seizing the whole cargo and twenty local men, including the previous Captain Drake.
A figure slipped to sit close to him, one dressed as he was all in dark colors, a hood covering both hair and the upper face, soot muting the pallor of the rest.
Captain Drake glanced to the side. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re shorthanded.” The reply was as sotto voce as the question.
“We’ve enough. Get back up to Crag Wyvern and see to the cellars.”
“No.”
“Susan
—”
“No, David. Maisie can handle matters from inside the house, and Diddy has the watch. I need to be out here.”
Susan Kerslake meant it. This run had to succeed or heaven knew what would become of them all, so she needed to be out here with her younger brother, even if there was nothing much she could do.
For generations this area had flourished, with smuggling the main enterprise under a series of strong, capable Captain Drakes, all from the Clyst family. With Mel Clyst captured, tried, and transported to Botany Bay, however, chaos threatened. Other, rougher gangs were trying to move in.
The only person in a position to be the unquestioned new Captain Drake was her brother. Though he and she went by their mother’s name of Kerslake, they were Mel Clyst’s children and everyone knew it. It was for David to seize control of the Dragon’s Horde gang and make a profit, or this area would become a battleground.
He’d had to take on the role, and Susan had urged him to it, but she shivered with fear for him. He was her younger brother, after all, and even though he was a man of twenty-four, she couldn’t help trying to protect him.
The black-sailed ship on the black ocean was barely visible, but a light flashed again, brief as a falling star, to say that the anchor had dropped. No sign of other ships out there, but the dark that protected the Freetraders could protect a navy ship as well.
She knew Captain de Root of the Anna Kasterlee was an experienced smuggler. He’d worked with the Horde for over a decade and had never made a slip yet. But smuggling was a chancy business. Mel Clyst’s capture had shown that, so she kept every sense alert.
At last her straining eyes glimpsed the boats surging out to be loaded with packages and half-ankers of spirits. She could just detect movement on the sloping headland, which rolled like the waves of the sea as local men flowed down to the beach to unload those small boats.
They’d haul the goods up the cliff to hiding places and packhorses. Men would carry the goods inland on their backs to secure places and to the middlemen who’d send the cargo on to Bath, London, and other cities. A week’s wages for a night’s work and a bit of ’baccy and tea to take home. Many would have scraped together a coin or two to invest in the profits.
