“Godless people.” Ann tramped in behind Bettina, her long saggy face in a leer. “Weren’t that what I said afore?” She plopped dirty tankards in a bucket. “No goodwill come of betraying your rightful king.”
“I do not need your hectoring. My family does not deserve the evil actions in France. We never betrayed our king.” Bettina fought down her anger and the sobs that bubbled up in her chest. She scraped the fish heads and tails into a small pail near the back door to feed the stray cats.
“You’ll still get your comeuppance, Duchess. For what you do up there, with him.”
“I have not done … affreux, say what you wish. But it is a lie.”
“Now, now, ladies.” Maddie stood before the fireplace, seething rosemary flowers in white wine—a sweet concoction she used to freshen breath and for face washing.
“When will we see you breeding?” Ann leaned close, and Bettina wished she’d freshened her breath.
“You enjoy causing trouble as much as that Old Milt.” Bettina shoved the platter into Ann’s hands. “Mr. Camborne is a good man.” She wanted to believe this, too.
“Good in the bed, you mean? Without benefit o’ clergy.”
“How dare you!” Bettina started to push past her to return to the taproom.
“Ann, serve them cherry tarts!” Maddie pointed at the fragrant desserts arranged on a tray. Ann huffed, picked it up and stomped from the kitchen. Maddie turned to Bettina. “Worried ’bout your family, aye? I heard of the king and queen and their escape. Don’t have much sympathy for the rich, but it be bad for their children.”
“Mais oui. Bad for so many people.” Not that Bettina would admit to having been one of the rich. She wanted to chase her mother’s sweet smile away, to store it in a place where she kept her memories safe. “I need to speak with someone in the taproom.”
“Wait. Has you asked Mr. Camborne more about his wife?”
“I did. He was … uncomfortable that I asked for details. Of course, it is painful for him to talk of it. He told me she ran off in the night, taking nothing with her. But I do not think he loved her. He does not wish to discuss it anymore.”
“But you has a perfect right to know.” Maddie dried her hands on her apron.
“I agree I have a right, if he has serious intentions about me.” Bettina looked at Maddie sheepishly, then peered through the doorway to see if the Hunter was still there. “And I want to trust him.”
“Just remember, the heart often be a bad judge o’ character.” Maddie gave her a quick pat on the back. She picked up a small keg of two-penny and tucked it under her arm as if it were a sack of feathers. “So go slow. Has he told you he loves you? Has he promised anything?”
“No. And he is very hesitant in our … relationship.”
“Then I give him credit for not filling you with lies to have his way.” Maddie shifted the keg and stared her straight in the eye. “Has you decided if you love him?”
Bettina sighed, remembering the way her body simmered at his kisses. “I think I do. But I know it will not be easy.”
“Don’t do nothing foolish, child. That’s the best advice I can give. Mr. Camborne needs to find his wife, and divorce her, if that’s his aim. But you has to be sensible.” Maddie gave her a sad smile. “I always knew you was too smart to work here, bein’ you was ignorant o’ this kinda life. Don’t know what past you come from, but will a gentleman marry a girl from an inn?”
Shouting came from the taproom and Bettina jumped.
“I had not thought that far ahead.” Did she want marriage from him? Of course, Camborne knew her true origins. “He has gone to London again. Business problems. And this time he took Frederick with him.” Five days had passed and she hated being excluded from Bronnmargh.
Dory barreled into the kitchen, face flushed. “Maddie, there’s a fight!”
The sound of crashing bodies and furniture almost drowned out her warning.
“What’s happened now?” Maddie scowled. She put the keg down and pushed past Dory. Bettina rushed out, searching the room. Several miners scuffled among fallen chairs. One of the lodgers stood atop a table and seemed to be taking bets on the outcome.
“Two tinners was arguin’, drunk as always, an’ now everyone be in on it.” Dory shook her frizzy blonde head. “Ain’t enough work in the mines no more to keep ’em busy.”
“Stop this tomfoolery. I’ll have your hides for it!” Maddie stood, arms akimbo, as a flying pewter tankard plunked between her feet. The smell of ale and beer was sharp.
Kerra and Charlie walked through the front door. Ann, balancing the tray of tarts over her head, screeched, and stumbled out past them to the street. Charlie rushed into a corner, and snatched up Maddie’s blunderbuss. He yelled a warning and leveled the weapon on the men.
“Everything will be in hand.” Kerra hurried up to her sister, her impish face alight.
The miners finally stopped, grumbled, gave Maddie embarrassed looks and strode out the door. Maddie slammed it after them. Bettina started righting chairs and picking up sticky tankards, working her way toward the corner where the bulky Hunter now sat.
“Aye, it’s done. They’s just frustrated with so many mines closin’.” Charlie spoke in his gentle drawl and propped the blunderbuss back in the corner.
“You is so brave.” Kerra’s infectious grin showered beauty over her sharp little features when she locked gazes with him. She primped her hair with a new feminine artifice. Charlie’s easy smile radiated ardor. His eyes twinkled in his narrow face . He held out his arm and Kerra took it.
“He comes here, even in mournin’. Them two’s in love, if I ever did see it.” Dory’s air wistful, she ran a dirty fingernail across her plump cleavage. “An’ I ain’t never seen it when it come to me.”
“It would be nice to have uncomplicated relationships.” Bettina walked toward the table as the Hunter stood. Now she saw he wore the tricolor cockade in his hat. She shivered at this and the sheer hulk of him, that creep of menace. “Why do you keep coming here, asking for me? Do you know my family? I insist you tell me what you want.”
He rumbled that gravelly laugh. “We might have some mutual friends. But we need to speak alone, if you care to step outside with me.” He nudged a broken plate aside with his boot and ambled toward the door.
“We can speak right here. I will never meet with you alone. What friends do you mean?” Bettina barely contained her anger. She sensed he held only malice toward her. He taunted her, like Stephen.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t take much to stir up people, does it, m’lady?”
She cringed, rushed to the closing door and threw the bolt.
* * * *
The coach trundling her up the hill to Bronnmargh nearly four weeks later felt like balm to Bettina’s soul. She’d stayed close to the inn during that time, wary of the Hunter, but he hadn’t come back. She knocked on the front door, and started when Everett opened it. He smiled and waved her in with a courtly bow. “At last, we’ve returned. I take it that you missed us?”
“Thank you, sir.” She hid her surprise at this gallantry. He looked so earnest and handsome her heart skipped several beats. “I am glad of your return. We have much to discuss.”
“Indeed? Will you stay for supper with me tonight after the lesson?” Everett took her hand, making her feel at home. She gleaned comfort from his touch.
“Yes, I will be delighted.” She stepped into the library, savoring the rich smell of leather. Everett continued down the hall.
Frederick grinned at her. He squirmed on the stool. “See my new clothes, Mademoiselle? Uncle took me to Vauxhall Gardens and we saw a juggler, and a play by Shakespeare.”
“I would like to see that garden … someday.” But London didn’t attract her interest as vividly as before. “Let us go over our sentences from last time, if you can remember, when we walked on the grounds. Quel est le nom de cette fleur, cet arbre? A quelle distance est-on de la maison?”
The boy repeated t
he phrases by rote, but kicked with his shoes at a stool leg and twisted a button on his frock coat in a display of the impatience she’d noticed more and more. Bettina, too, found it difficult to concentrate on the lesson, anxious to question Everett about their future.
“Did you visit anyone else in London?” she asked, curious to know what society Everett sought when away. ‘Any women’, she didn’t add.
“Uncle was busy in his office, but tried to spend time with me.”
The walnut encased table clock on the desk ticked out the crawling time. At six, Everett came in. “Frederick, Mrs. Pollard has your supper in the kitchen.”
The boy scampered out. Everett helped Bettina from the chair and offered his arm. She smiled and accepted it. They walked to the dining room. The table was set with splendid blue and white Wedgwood china and polished silverware, and two large silver candelabra were lit at each end. The clean smell of wax candles filled the room. Golden wine sparkled in tall crystal goblets.
Everett radiated elegance, wearing a new beige frock coat with a scarlet stock at his throat. His rich brown hair waved naturally over his ears, the rest tied back in a queue. He slid out a chair for her. “Traditionally, we would sit at opposite ends of the table. But that’s too far away.”
“I am honored.” The fact he intended for them to be alone excited her. “It was unfortunate you had to return to London so soon. How long does it take to reach that city?” Bettina spread the linen napkin on her lap, glad that Everett disdained the English practice of fingerbowls.
“A tiresome journey, over four days in a swift coach.” His gaze made her shiver as he seated himself at the table’s head. “But Frederick’s company kept it lively. Sometimes we go down to Plymouth and sail along the coast to Gravesend; but the roads are improved with the turnpikes.”
“There’s thunder outside, sir.” Mrs. Pollard bustled in with a tray of venison surrounded by creamed cauliflower and carrots. She set it down, adjusted her mobcap around her plump face, and cast Bettina a curious eye. She then trotted into the kitchen and dashed out with a loaf of bread and slab of butter on a cutting board.
Bettina heard the wind groaning around the manor, making the eaves creak as if a giant hand leaned on the roof. “We have had so much rain this past week.”
“It looks like we’re in for even more.” Everett picked up his knife and fork. “Such soaking won’t be good for the farmers. I remember our problems, when we grew crops … when I was a child. Too much, or too little rain.”
She hoped he would speak more on his past. “I never realized, until coming to the inn, how much the weather affects everything.” Bettina drank deeply from her wine. His ardent scrutiny unnerved her. She tried to focus on the food. The succulent meat in her mouth was so different from what she ate at the inn. “This venison is delicious, my compliments to the cook.”
“Thank ’ee, Miss.” Mrs. Pollard brought out a wedge of cheese and a treat of fresh oranges. She smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkling.
Bettina wanted to hide an orange in her pocket, to take to Kerra. A rumble of thunder made her jump and she laughed at her silliness. Her emotions tripped as fast as Mrs. Pollard’s feet.
“The people I spoke with in town haven’t been able to track down your mother, or any other family members whose names you provided.” Everett dabbed his mouth with a napkin and set his plate aside. “They promised to keep searching. It’s quite a confusion, and many émigrés fled to other countries such as Germany. But we won’t give up.”
Heavy with disappointment, Bettina scraped her fork across the plate. “No, I do not want to give up.” She thought again of the Hunter and wondered if she should tell Everett. Then the image of Stephen’s crushed head slid before her. She clattered her fork down. “I wonder if you have considered—”
“Here, sir.” Mrs. Pollard reappeared with a creamy wine syllabub. She picked up the plates and bustled out again.
“Ah, what a delicious looking dessert.” His smile glistened in the candlelight.
“I am completely stuffed, if I may be so blunt. Maybe just a taste.” Bettina reached for her dish. Camborne touched her fingers and caressed her hand, his gaze tender. Her breath quickened. “And thank you for … pursuing the search.”
“It’s my pleasure. You do know you can appeal to these people on your own behalf. That might be better than staying where you are. I mean, improved living conditions. They could set you up with other émigrés.”
“I might consider that.” Bettina recalled her childish fear over breaching Armand’s instructions. Now she hoped Everett wasn’t distancing himself from her. “Though I have come to appreciate where I am now.” Yet she no longer felt safe, except with him. Or might he be just as dangerous?
“I must say that I’m glad of that.” The relief she perceived on his face warmed her.
Bettina looked away from his ardent gaze and tasted the creamy treat. She pondered her options. She’d resigned herself to never see France again. But to her shame, with money accumulating, she’d nudged her flight from Sidwell aside as her emotions became entwined with his. “I would like to talk about what might be next for us.”
“Sorry, sir, but the flaw’s growin’ fierce. I must be off.” Mrs. Pollard flitted through the dining room, her shawl clutched about her shoulders. “Took Master Frederick up to his room.”
They all went to the front window and peered out. The wind whipped and rattled the glass, huge drops of rain pelted down. A streak of lightening sizzled against a sky growing black.
“You can't walk home in this, Mrs. Pollard. I'll have the coach take you.” Everett glanced at Bettina with a speculative air. “Then, I suppose, drop Miss Laurant off afterwards.” He strode down the hall to summon his coachman.
Bettina shriveled in more disappointment. The evening wasn’t supposed to end like this; she deserved intimate time alone with him.
“I can walk, done it afore. My cottage is only along the trail to the left, half way down the hill. Tell Mr. Camborne thanks, but I'm off now. Don't want to be no bother. Goodnight, Miss.” Mrs. Pollard wrapped her shawl around her head and opened the door.
“Wait a moment.” Bettina grabbed an umbrella from the stand, determined for the woman not to change her mind. “Take this, please.”
“Thank ’ee, Miss.” Mrs. Pollard bobbed her head. She gave Bettina a look both concerned and flustered, then dashed across the yard to another clap of thunder. Bettina shut and bolted the door. In the dining room she poured herself a fresh glass of wine, resolved not to be sent home like a schoolgirl.
Everett walked in, leaving a shiny trail of dripping water behind him. “The coach will be around in a few minutes. The rain is drenching down now.”
“Mrs. Pollard has gone already. She did not want to be a bother, and took one of your umbrellas.” Bettina sipped her wine. “Do I have to leave now? Could we not sit in the parlor and talk for awhile?”
“Gone?” His eyes met hers and she saw a flicker of understanding. “Yes, that sounds … quite enjoyable. No reason for you to leave yet.”
Bettina trembled with excitement, watching his retreating back. She would prove to him she was a sophisticated woman even if she didn’t reside in London. After all, she had once been a member of the noblesse of French society.
Taking one of the silver candelabra, she walked to the parlor and set it on the pianoforte. She settled on the bench and began to play. At last she felt Everett come up behind her. When he put his hands on her shoulders, she quivered.
He bent down, whispering, “And when would you like the coach to take you home, mademoiselle?”
“Are you so anxious to be rid of me?” she asked, masking her nervousness as his breath tickled her ear. “First you want to send me off to London … and now to the inn.”
“No, I didn’t say that. I’m just thinking of what might be best for you.” Everett straightened, walked to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port, studying her with a serious, almost exp
ectant air. “I suppose you’re aware of your king’s foiled escape?”
“Yes, unfortunately.” Bettina tried to finish the piece she’d been playing, her hands poised over the keys, but her mind went blank. She knew Everett meant to redirect the tension that seemed to shimmer in the air between them. But she hated to think of the continuing turmoil in her homeland. “I do not blame His Majesty for trying to leave France. But now matters will be worse for him. The revolutionaries appear capable of anything.” The Hunter’s gravelly voice pricked into her thoughts, his taunting her with the tricolore. She gulped down her wine to calm her jittery pulse.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she wished the outside troubles would vanish for tonight.
“Are you all right?”
At his worried question, she rose and joined him before the hearth with her empty glass.
“May I have some port, sir?”
He took her goblet, his smile indulgent, eyes questioning. “Haven't you had enough, my dear?”
“I do not believe so.” She believed quite the opposite. This close to him, a heat rose in her chest and spiraled lower, embodying that sensual pull, a promise of more of his kisses. And she didn’t see anything wrong with a few kisses.
“Just a little more.” Everett poured the dark red liquid and clicked his glass to hers. They both drank, then he placed his glass on the mantel.
The sweet port swirled inside her. Bettina set her glass beside his. He reached out and ran his finger along her cheek. She leaned toward him with the urge to obliterate whatever bruises he carried inside, and to banish her own anxieties. Everett gathered her in his arms. His mouth came down on hers, soft at first, then more urgent. Running his hands through her hair, his lips searched every inch of her mouth.
“I should send you home,” he whispered, but continued to kiss the curve of her jaw, her earlobe, down her throat, then back to her lips.
Bettina sighed, her skin tingling, her desire for him strong. She returned his kisses with equal insistence. “Oh, Everett. What is next for us? We need to decide.”
Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) Page 17
