Smuggler's Lady

by Jane Feather

  Curiously, she stood in front of the pier glass, heedless of Nan’s puzzled disapproval. Did she have the sort of body that would attract a man? She had not been entirely to her husband’s taste as he had told her often enough. Boy’s hips, he had said, breasts like little lemons, nothing a man could get a hold of. Not like Georgiana Collier, who at seventeen had the voluptuous curves of a Rubens nude.

  “Just what are you thinking of? Staring at yourself like that without a stitch on! It’s not decent, Meredith!” Nan pushed her chemise into her hands. “You’ve the body God gave you, and there’s naught you can do about it.”

  “No,” Merrie agreed sadly. “I had come to the same conclusion.”

  “Now, what’s brought all this on?” Nan’s intelligent old eyes sharpened, and she stared at her erstwhile nursling as if Merrie were again in the schoolroom, harboring an unhappy secret.

  “Oh, ’tis nothing at all.” Meredith turned away from the mirror and began to dress hastily.

  Nan humphed her disbelief but, to Merrie’s relief, did not pursue the matter. In fact, the elderly nurse had her own ideas as to the reasons for this out-of-character behavior, but she was too wise to reveal them, being confident that they would be overhastily denied.

  Meredith had reached the foot of the stairs when she heard the unmistakable voice coming from the breakfast parlor. Rob’s excited prattle mingled with the clatter of dishes, Hugo’s solemn tones, and Lord Rutherford’s light but steady ones. She half-turned, hand on the newel post, intending to flee back to her chamber, but Seecombe, bearing a coffee pot, appeared from backstairs.

  “Good morning, Lady Merrie. I have just this minute made your coffee, so it is nice and fresh.”

  “Thank you, Seecombe. You are most thoughtful.” Resigned, she smiled warmly and preceded him into the breakfast parlor. “Good morning, Lord Rutherford, you are up and visiting betimes. What a delightful surprise.”

  His eyes narrowed at her cool tone, but he rose, bowed, and held a chair for her. “I did not intend inviting myself to breakfast, Lady Blake, but I have a passion for deviled kidneys, and Mrs. Perry does not seem able to provide them.”

  “You are most welcome, sir,” she said, taking her seat. “Thank you, Seecombe.” The servant placed the coffee pot at her elbow. “Do you care for coffee, Lord Rutherford?”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but no. This excellent ale will more than satisfy me.”

  “Only think, Merrie!” Rob was bouncing in his seat. “Lord Rutherford has come to invite us all to a picnic. He says we will take horses and a big hamper and go to Yellan Falls.”

  “That is most kind of Lord Rutherford,” Merrie responded. “I am sure you will have a most enjoyable day.”

  “The invitation included you.” Damian sat back in the carved oak chair at the table’s head, one leg crossed negligently over the other, regarding her steadily.

  “I fear I do not have the time for pleasure excursions, sir. I must ride into Fowey after breakfast.”

  “Then perhaps we should turn a business excursion into a pleasure trip,” he said smoothly. “I passed through Fowey on my way to Landreth and it seemed an agreeable enough town. I am sure the inn can provide us with a tolerable meal. While you conduct your business, perhaps Rob and Theo, Hugo, too, if he can spare the time, will show me the sights.”

  “That is a capital idea, sir.” Theo sprang to his feet. “We have not been to Fowey this holiday. Shall we ride, Merrie, or take the gig?”

  Rob was cavorting around the parlor in a state of high excitement, and even Hugo’s expression had lightened at the prospect of the treat. Merrie knew she could not disappoint them without good reason, and the only reason she had, while it was sufficient, was not one she could reveal to her brothers. The dawn resolution would have to be put into effect another time unless she was afforded the opportunity to be alone with Rutherford during the day and could inform him of her decision.

  The sight of the four Trelawneys and Lord Rutherford taking the Fowey road on this Monday morning at the end of July caused some considerable interest. Lady Collier, giving instruction to her gardener pruning the climbing rose around the garden gate, saw them first. The cavalcade politely drew rein so that greetings could be exchanged. Once they were on their way again, Lady Collier hastened indoors to change her dress and give orders for the barouche to be brought around. It would be most diverting to be, for once, ahead of Patience Barrat with such a tidbit. While there could be nothing improper exactly about Meredith’s riding with Lord Rutherford in the company of her brothers, it was a most singular circumstance. The little widow was hardly known for her extrovert nature.

  If Meredith had expected any special attention, any speaking looks from soulful eyes, she was disappointed. Lord Rutherford rode alongside her, talking the merest commonplace when he was not engaged with one of the others. There was not even opportunity to exhibit a frosty withdrawal since there was nothing from which to withdraw. He was behaving as if last night had never happened, as if he had never said the things he had said, and Meredith could almost believe that she had imagined the whole. Except for the curious, inconvenient sense of excitement she felt in his proximity, the way her eyes kept sliding to his hands, remembering the way they had felt as he held her, and then she would see his mouth, smiling, and her lips tingled with memory.

  They reached Fowey just before noon. The town, at the head of the Fowey river, gleamed in whitewashed freshness, bustling with noise and life. “Which inn do you recommend, ma’am?” Rutherford turned to his companion with a polite smile.

  “The Royal is more accustomed to Quality than the Eagle and Child,” she replied, “but I dare swear neither will provide what you are accustomed to.”

  “I think I told you once before that my tastes are not overly refined,” he responded evenly. “I will bespeak a parlor and nuncheon at the Royal. You will join us there when your business is completed.”

  “I should not be above half an hour with Mr. Donne.” Merrie, to her annoyance, found herself offering a conciliatory smile.

  In return, his lordship leaned over to give her cheek a careless pat. “I shall await your return most eagerly.” His eyes twinkled conspiratorially and Meredith could not help but respond. Mumbling something incoherently, she directed her mare across the street to the lawyer’s office. Mr. Donne’s clerk bellowed for an apprentice, who appeared and held Lady Blake’s horse while the clerk ushered the client into the lawyer’s sanctum.

  “Ah, Lady Blake, good morning.” Mr. Donne was a jovial man with the portly belly and ruddy complexion of one who enjoyed the good things of life. “It is always such a pleasure to see you.”

  Meredith greeted him with genuine warmth. The lawyer had stood her friend in the years since her husband’s death, negotiating the redemption of the estate with the utmost discretion, never once questioning her as to how she achieved the miracles. He had also offered sound advice as to which portions of the estate she would do well to buy back as priorities, treating his female client with all the deference he would have accorded her husband. More, in fact, as he was in the habit of telling Mrs. Donne, since her ladyship had a shrewd head on her shoulders and a tight hand to the purse strings, unlike the profligate Sir John.

  Now, he waved her ladyship to a chair with an expansive hand and offered sherry. Meredith accepted both, then came straight to the point. “I had hoped to be in a position to redeem Ducket’s Spinney this morning, Mr. Donne, but, unfortunately, there are other claims on the money.”

  The lawyer shook his head. “That is a pity. I have the papers ready for you since you had said it would be your intention.”

  “Next month,” she said with confidence. “For the moment, I have half of the sum.” Reaching into the deep pocket of her riding habit, she drew out a leather pouch, laid a fold of bills on the desk. “I realize that the bank will not deal piecemeal, but I would be glad if you would keep this until I may lay hands on the rest.”

  “May I make a sugg
estion?” The lawyer crossed his hands over an ample paunch and, when she inclined her head in agreement, went on. “The interest payment falls due next month on the substantial loan Sir John took out just before his death. Were you to use this sum to pay the interest ahead of time, you would save a month of six percent.” His head nodded sagaciously. “The money would be better employed in that manner, d’ye not think, Lady Blake?”

  She sighed. “You are right, of course. It is just that I hate to send good money after bad. Without those interest payments, I would have Pendennis free and clear by now.”

  “Why do you not pay off the loan first, then? The mortgages will hold.” He looked at her with shrewd sympathy. The suggestion had been made before, but Meredith had needed the concrete satisfaction of gaining back the land, and he had understood her need.

  “It will take at least a year. Five thousand pounds is no trifle. There remains only Ducket’s Spinney and the Lower Forty. I must have those first, Mr. Donne.”

  “It is, of course, for you to decide.” Taking the bills, he went over to the iron safe in the corner of the room. “I shall keep these for you until next month.”

  “No.” Merrie stood up, drawing on her riding gloves. “Pay the interest on the loan, if you please. I shall hope to have sufficient for the spinney next month.”

  “Your husbandry is most amazing,” he observed.

  “Yes,” Meredith agreed calmly. “It is extraordinary what one can do if one counts the pennies.”

  “Just so, my lady.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, seemed about to say something further, but, when she moved toward the door, made haste to accompany her out to the street where the apprentice assisted her to mount.

  “Good day, Mr. Donne. I thank you again for your trouble.” She leant down to give him her hand. The lawyer reached up to grasp it firmly.

  “My pleasure, your ladyship.”

  Mr. Donne watched the horse and rider down the street, still stroking his chin. Lady Blake had some other source of income, of that he was convinced. All the penny counting in the world could not achieve the sums she had laid out in the last two and a half years. But some inner voice of caution told him to keep this surmise to himself, even from his dear wife who would find it most fascinating. Shaking his head, he returned to his office for his coat. It was time he went upstairs in search of the midday meal that that excellent lady would have waiting for him.

  Merrie made her way to the Royal feeling a stab of unease at the latter part of her exchange with the lawyer. He was obviously aware that simple economy could not achieve the sums she brought in, but he had never commented on it before, never looked so thoughtful. It was not as if he could guess the truth in a millennium, but, if he shared his thoughts, speculation would be rife in Fowey, and it would not be long before it reached Landreth. Merrie had been aware of the risk since the beginning, but she had had to have an agent in the business, and she trusted the lawyer who had never been less than honest and sympathetic about her financial situation. What would he think when she came up with twice as much money in the future? She would not be able to do so, Merrie decided reluctantly. She could not escalate the redemption without legitimate questions from the lawyer. In spite of her natural impatience, she would have to proceed with caution.

  She was still frowning, however, as she left the mare in the yard of the Royal and went into the inn. “Lady Blake.” The landlord bowed low, rubbing pudgy hands together, expressive of some degree of contentment. “His lordship awaits you in the parlor above stairs.”

  “Thank you, Jud.” She followed him upstairs and was surprised, on being shown with considerable flourish into the only private parlor the Royal possessed, that it contained only Lord Rutherford and a laden table.

  “I did not expect to find you alone, sir.” She drew off her gloves and removed her hat, tossing both onto the window seat. “Where are the boys?”

  “Rob heard tell of a traveling circus.” Rutherford smiled and poured her a glass of sherry. “Also a fair, as I understand. Even Hugo was induced to go to see if they would be worth an extended visit this afternoon.”

  “Then I daresay we shall not see them for hours.” She took the sherry and went to the mullioned window, looking down onto the street. “Had I known, I would have given Theo and Rob some money. They would never ask for it, but a fair can provide little amusement if one is penniless.”

  Her companion cleared his throat and said somewhat hesitantly, “I—uh—took the liberty of ...”

  She whirled from the window. “Thank you. It is what I would have expected of you, to think of such a thing.” She spoke with completely natural warmth. There had never been any constraint between them when it came to dealings with the Trelawney brothers. “How much do I owe you?”

  “You would not, I suppose, allow me to make a present of it to my young friends?”

  “No,” she said definitely. “I could not possibly.”

  “Very well then—half a sovereign apiece. Hugo did not see any need for funds.”

  Merrie laughed. “No, he would not.” She handed him a sovereign which he pocketed with appropriate solemnity.

  “How was your business?” Lord Rutherford inquired politely. “Successful, I trust.”

  “Yes, thank you. Quite successful.” The accompanying smile was, however, distinctly preoccupied.

  “That is not an entirely honest answer,” he declared, leaning broad shoulders against the mantel. “I am intrigued. In general, when you lie you do so with such consummate artistry that it is near impossible to detect. You have made little attempt to disguise that particular untruth. I wonder why.”

  “Perhaps, sir, because with you there would be little point.” She took a slow sip of sherry. “I beg your pardon if I appear a trifle distrait, but there are matters that concern me at present, and I had not intended to take on social obligations in addition to my business.”

  Lord Rutherford whistled softly. “So, I am a social obligation. That is something of a facer, I confess. I have never to my knowledge been viewed in quite such an unflattering light before, particularly by my guests.”

  Meredith flushed to the roots of her hair. “I must apologize if I sounded impolite, my lord. It was not my intention.”

  “Liar,” he said without rancor or emphasis.

  “I wish you would stop accusing me of lying.” Meredith gave up the pretense of formality.

  “When you stop, so will I also. It is a very bad habit, you know,” he informed her rather in the manner of a kindly schoolmaster addressing an erring pupil.

  Her lips quivered at the absurdity, and with two long strides he stood in front of her. One hand removed her glass while the other lifted her chin.

  “No . . .” she managed to say, the instant before he kissed her. “You must not,” she completed when his mouth released hers.

  “Why must I not, Merrie?” He smiled, the warm, glowing, all-embracing smile that fuzzed the edges of reality and seemed to make nonsense of her fears. But they were not nonsense, and she was no naive maiden to be swept foolishly off her feet by an engaging countenance, a beguiling smile, and a pair of sparkling eyes. Widows in their twenty-fourth year, with debts and brothers to raise and provide for, could not afford to lose touch with the ground beneath their serviceable shoes.

  “Lord Rutherford,” she began, stepping backward away from his hand. “I must ask you, please, to—to cease your visits to Pendennis and to refrain from singling me out in any way. I do not wish for your company—although, of course, I am deeply honored by your attentions,” she added with the self-deprecating smile she reserved for her neighbors.

  “You dare do that to me!” he exclaimed, all humor vanishing from his expression. Taking her by the shoulders, he gave her a vigorous shake, ignoring her gasp of outrage. “Never smile at me like that again! Now, what is all this nonsense?”

  “A gentleman, my lord, does not require an explanation when a lady says she does not wish for his company,” she said
icily.

  “You lack many of the definitive qualities of a lady, Merrie Trelawney,” he retorted. “It is hardly surprising that I should act accordingly.”

  “You are insufferable!” Snatching up her gloves and hat, she marched to the door, but Rutherford reached it before she did. A long arm in a maroon velvet jacket barred her progress.

  “I will beg your pardon for that remark, Merrie, if you insist that it is necessary,” he said. “But will you not acknowledge the truth? What has passed between us from the first has had little in common with the veneer of propriety.”

  “That may be so,” she said in a low voice, keeping her eyes fixed on a hairline crack in the door’s paneling. “But that does not mean that I forfeit my right to make my wishes known or to have them granted.”

  “Yesterday, I said that I loved you, that I wished you to be my wife. You were kind enough to tell me that I was quite mistaken, that I was merely amused and challenged by you, found you a diversion from my boredom. Those observations, I beg to inform you, were insulting. If you have the right to make your wishes known, I have the right to be believed in what I say. Do you not think me more likely to know how and what I feel than you?”

  Meredith remained silent. If she could fall in love with Rutherford, why should he not have fallen in love with her? It did not alter the facts, however. Talk of marriage between them was as chimeric as believing in fairies. If he had not been in such a strange state of mind, dissatisfied and unhappy, he would see that as clearly as she did.

  “I await an answer, Meredith. And I would like you to look at me when you give it.”

  She waited for him to turn up her face in his accustomed fashion and, when he did not, was obliged to look up of her own accord—an action that uncomfortably implied obedience. “I will grant, sir, that you know your own feelings best.”

  He pursed his lips, continuing to scrutinize her expression in silence, then the sounds of hasty footsteps on the stairs and the voices of Rob and Theo engaged in argument came from outside. With one mind, they both moved away from the door. When the boys burst in, their elders were to be found sipping sherry, Merrie by the window, Lord Rutherford leaning casually against the carved mantel.