Matthew followed suit, his expression bright. “I’m told I missed a great deal of excitement last night at the Gray Owl Inn.”
“I’ll say!” Lambourne guffawed as if the event had been entertaining instead of frightening. “But your brother did you proud, and I’m sure you heard the account.” Lambourne pivoted to face Isaac. “I’ve not had the opportunity to convey my gratitude. You’d departed by the time I arrived. So you stepped in front of a pistol on my niece’s behalf? Quite the noble deed.”
Isaac nodded. “I hope she’s recovered from the ordeal.”
“I’ve not seen her yet today, but my wife tells me Julia is quite recovered and will be joining us this evening.”
“Then I shall look forward to making her acquaintance,” Matthew interjected.
Isaac cast a sideways glance at Matthew. He knew that glint in his brother’s eye all too well—and rarely did a venture that began with such a twinkle end pleasantly.
“Well then, come into the hall, out of the rain and wretched wind. You’re hardly the first ones here. The Pennas and the Davieses have preceded you.”
Isaac turned into the great hall and took in the beamed arched ceiling and the weaponry displayed on the walls. He tried to remember the last time he was here. Surely it was before his father died. The plaster walls had been painted bright white since his last visit, and now ornate wooden chairs lined the walls beneath the leaded windows. A fire blazed in the broad stone hearth.
Familiar faces glanced in their direction with nods of welcome. How many times had he been in this very situation? This very night, under the guise of a social gathering, bargains would be struck, deals made, advice shared. A specific kinship connected the people in this room. They all spoke the miner’s language and lived the miner’s life. Had Lambourne not inherited such a prime piece of land, he would not be included among this sort, but now he was suddenly everyone’s friend.
Isaac was about to say something to Mr. Dunstan when a silence fell over the room. He turned to follow the other guests’ line of vision.
And there she was. Miss Twethewey.
His breath caught in his chest at the sight.
No longer was she the frightened young lady huddled in her cape, defiantly arguing with her attacker.
Far from it.
A gown of pale blue hugged her curves. Dark curls, which last night tumbled in disarray over her shoulders, now adorned her head like a crown. Wispy tendrils framed her face, and a healthy rosy glow on her high cheekbones replaced the previous night’s pallid complexion. Elegant arched eyebrows framed eyes the color of bluebells that graced the forest floor in the warmer months to come, and a sweetly sloping nose drew his attention to her parted lips.
Matthew nudged his shoulder. “Ah, Brother. Now I see.”
“See what?” Isaac regained his composure.
“No wonder you were in such a hurry to dismiss any idea of my wooing Miss Twethewey. And who could blame you? I suppose you had an idea to do the same.”
* * *
Julia was not timid by nature, but such direct, unwavering attention was unnerving.
All eyes were on her.
She managed a smile and scanned the unfamiliar faces until she saw the face she sought.
Mr. Isaac Blake.
He stood on the chamber’s far side with a small cluster of guests. Even though their interaction had been fleeting, she recalled his light-blond hair and broad shoulders. He stood next to a man who was almost identical, but whose hair was a shade or two darker. It had to be the twin Aunt spoke of.
Somehow his presence eased her in spite of—or perhaps because of—their odd encounter. Yes, they were strangers, yet an unmistakable bond drew her to him. She could not help but wonder what sort of man would face such danger to intervene on a stranger’s behalf. What must he think of her, after seeing her crying, hair wild, and unmistakably frightened?
Once inside the great hall, Aunt Beatrice nudged her toward the nearest guest, a short, rotund man standing next to a tall woman with an ostentatious green gown. Introductions began immediately. Julia smiled, answered polite questions, and tried to commit names to memory.
Together, she and her aunt made the rounds until, at last, they had arrived at the gathering of guests with the Blakes. A flutter quaked inside her stomach, and a strange sense of vulnerability settled on her shoulders. Mr. Blake had seen her in a way no other person ever had and, hopefully, would never have reason to see her in that way again.
As she drew nearer, Mr. Blake’s features came into sharper focus. His snowy-white cravat highlighted a square, clean-shaven jaw, and dark lashes framed green—no, hazel—eyes.
The other man was slightly shorter and his focus was already on her, a bright smile lighting his face.
“Ah, the brothers Blake.” Aunt Beatrice approached the twins, interrupting their conversation with two other gentlemen. “How pleased we are that you were able to join us tonight.”
Aunt Beatrice managed to maneuver herself into the group to separate Mr. Isaac Blake from them. Then she wrapped her fingers around Julia’s arm and guided her closer to Mr. Matthew Blake.
Julia resisted the urge to frown at her aunt’s blatant rudeness. After all, Mr. Isaac had been the one to rescue her. She at least owed him gratitude. But then, her aunt was determined to the point of tactlessness.
An ardent smile creased her aunt’s face, and a look of triumph lit her round features. “You have not met my lovely niece then, have you, Mr. Blake?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve not had the pleasure.” He turned toward Julia and bowed. “Welcome to Goldweth, Miss Twethewey.”
She curtsied, taking a moment to study the man, from the fine cut of his dark-blue broadcloth coat to the intricate tie of his cravat.
“Mr. Blake is our neighbor.” Aunt repeated the information she had shared that morning. She pivoted toward Julia. “His estate meets ours to the northeast.”
So this was the man her aunt had thought would make a match for her. With hair the color of sand and ample dark lashes, he certainly was handsome, and judging by his interested expression, quite attentive.
Determined to rectify her aunt’s rudeness, Julia turned her attention to the younger brother. “Good evening, Mr. Blake. We meet again, sir.”
If he was surprised at the directness of her statement or at her aunt’s oversight of him, he gave no indication. He bowed low. “We do. I’m happy to see you are settled well.”
“I am.” She raised her chin. “Thank you.”
“Do excuse us, gentlemen.” Aunt Beatrice’s nose twitched, and she fluttered her fan with one hand and placed the other on Julia’s shoulder, turning her away from the men. “Dinner will begin soon, and others are eager to make Julia’s acquaintance.”
Obeying her aunt’s bidding, Julia dipped her head in farewell and allowed herself to be led away, resisting the urge to glance back at the two seemingly very different gentlemen.
Chapter 10
Julia lowered her napkin to her lap as she sat at the table in the dining hall. Candlelight and polite conversation filled the high-ceilinged chamber, and a lively fire in the stone hearth added energy to the room. Curiosity about all of the new faces around her commandeered her senses to the point she had to remind herself to eat.
Uncle William sat at the head of the long, ornately carved oak table, which stretched from one end of the long room to the other. Aunt Beatrice occupied the opposite end, like a queen on her throne, and was much engaged in conversation with an elderly gentleman seated to her right. The men far outnumbered the ladies in attendance, and as a result of Aunt’s meticulous planning, the women had been evenly dispersed around the table. Most of the feminine guests appeared to be around her aunt’s age, but other than Caroline, only one other young woman, a Miss Davies, was present.
Julia found herself sitting between two gentlemen—Mr. Matthew Blake to her left and Mr. Andrew Dunstan to her right.
“I consider myself the most fortunate man in attendance t
onight.”
She cast a sideways glance at Matthew Blake and found his gaze on her. “Oh?”
“Can it be any wonder?” He grinned, his hazel eyes catching the light with a mischievous twinkle. “I’m seated next to the guest of honor. A true privilege.”
“I’m hardly the guest of honor, Mr. Blake.” She laughed with a shake of her head. “A visitor, nothing more.”
“Visitor or not, I still consider it a privilege.” He sobered and then lowered his head, as if taking her into his confidence. “But I must say, I’m outraged at what happened at the inn last night. Absolutely reprehensible.”
How she wished the unfortunate event never happened, and now every person she came into contact with knew about it. So many questions darted around her mind, and even though she’d sought her uncle several times throughout the course of the day to ask him about them, she’d never found the opportunity.
Julia shifted in her chair, adding to the distance between Mr. Blake and her that seemed to be closing. “I was grateful your brother was there to offer assistance.”
Mr. Blake looked past her and down the table at his brother, seated near her uncle. “He’s quite the man. I’m proud to call him family.”
Isaac Blake was seated next to the pretty Miss Davies, and their heads were tilted toward each other in conversation.
She watched the pair with interest for several moments. “I hope to be able to thank him in person this evening.”
“I am sure you’ll have the opportunity. You know how parties like this go. He’s a modest man, though. I doubt you’ll get much conversation from him.”
Julia returned her full attention to her neighbor, determined to change the conversation. “My aunt mentioned that you and your brother are twins. I’ve never met anyone who was a twin before.”
“You haven’t?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“Yes.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m a whole three minutes Isaac’s senior. A great feat indeed.”
She laughed at his little joke and then lifted her gaze to the lock of blond hair that fell over his forehead. “You bear a strong resemblance to one another.”
“You think so? We’ve often been told that, but the older we become, the less we look alike.” He paused. “Do you have siblings, Miss Twethewey?”
“I do. I’ve four siblings. Two brothers and two sisters.”
“A large family, then. Are you close?”
“Very. Our parents died when we were children, and my aunt and uncle raised us.”
“Ah yes, at Penwythe Hall.”
“You know it?” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m surprised. It isn’t extraordinarily large.”
“I confess, I peppered your uncle with questions about you prior to your arrival. You see, we don’t have many visitors in this part of the country. It’s quite an anticipated occasion.”
“Ah, Mr. Blake, I am sure to disappoint.”
“You have already surpassed every hope, Miss Twethewey.”
She flushed under the praise and obvious flirtation. “Really, Mr. Blake.”
“You doubt my sincerity?” He laughed, his expression playfully injured.
“No, sir, I don’t doubt it. But now I’m at a disadvantage, for you know various details about me, but I know naught of you, other than you’re my uncle’s neighbor and have a twin brother who’s but three minutes your junior.”
“What would you like to know?” He laced his fingers together on the tabletop. “I have no secrets.”
“Tell me about your industry.” She considered it a safe topic. “How do you occupy your time?”
He shrugged and nodded at the other guests. “My business is the same as every other man in attendance. Mining.”
“I know very little of mining,” Julia divulged, fidgeting with the food on her plate. “My uncle tends apple orchards on his estate, and there’s little room for any other occupation.”
“Apples, eh? Well, spend a little time in Goldweth and you will be an expert in mining in no time.”
“What’s the name of your mine?”
“Wheal Tamsen. It’s a copper mine just over the hill from here. Isaac and I work it together. I own it, but I also act as the purser, meaning I care for the finances, and he’s the mine captain and manages all the operations. My father ran it before us, and his father before that.”
“I understand my uncle inherited a mine,” she offered, curious to learn more about the venture that brought her aunt and uncle to Goldweth.
“Bal Tressa.” His good-natured expression subsided. “The largest copper mine in the area. At the moment it stands still.”
“So I’ve heard.” Sensing her opportunity to learn more, she tilted her head toward the side. “Can it not be reopened?”
Mr. Blake shrugged. “Of course, but even though your uncle owns the land, he lacks experience to run it. He needs someone to help him—or to do it for him. Often landowners like him make agreements to have their mines run by men called adventurers—men who know how to make mines successful and who are willing to pay to work the land.”
“I see.”
“Tell me,” he said with renewed vigor, “what do you think of Lanwyn Manor?”
She drew a deep breath and surveyed her surroundings anew. “It’s impressive.”
“Have you seen the ghost yet?”
“A ghost?” She laughed. “You jest.”
“No, no.” His eyes sparkled. “I’m in earnest. A ghost—or should I say ghosts—reside here. Ask anyone.”
She eyed him, as if waiting for him to admit the folly in his statement. “Not a single soul has said anything about it.”
“Well, your family may not be aware of the stories, but ask any of the servants here. I’m sure they could tell you dozens of accounts of unexplainable occurrences. Inquire after the treasure while you’re at it.”
“Treasure?”
“’Tis a well-known truth that there is a treasure hidden somewhere within these walls. The only issue is that no one knows exactly what is hidden or where.”
“And pray, how did you become such an expert on Lanwyn Manor?”
“Time. I spent a great deal of it here as a boy. Isaac and I both did. Our father and old Mr. Rowe were good friends and often collaborated on mining projects.” Matthew wiped his mouth with his napkin and studied her for several moments. “I can tell by your expression that you’re surprised to hear that.”
“Not at all.” She searched for words, recalling her aunt’s not-so-favorable comments about the local residents. “It’s just that I know so little of this area.”
“Well, allow me to enlighten you with a little Goldweth history. There was a time, a couple of decades ago actually, when Rowe was the most profitable miner in this area.”
“What happened to him?”
“A tragedy. His only son was killed in an accident. An unprecedented rainstorm flooded the shaft his boy was in and killed him. After that Rowe never visited the mine again, and he let it to adventurers—the very ones your uncle broke ties with.”
She stiffened at the unexpected sadness in the tale. “How tragic.”
“It is sad.” He nodded. “But it lends credence to the myths surrounding this old house. The legend is that the family who lives here is cursed.”
She huffed. “You’re not serious.”
“I am! Quite.”
She eyed him, fighting not to show her skepticism.
“Is it any wonder?” He shrugged and lifted his eyes to the molded ceiling above him. “This building is ancient—hundreds of years have passed since this very room was built.”
She considered his words but remained silent.
“Don’t take my word for it. Ask anyone.” He leaned so close she could smell his scent of tobacco and port. “But you’ve been warned.”
The clink of silver against crystal captured her attention, and she pivoted to see her uncle standing at the table’s end, his glass extended in his hand. The candl
elight shining behind him accented not only his gray hair and side whiskers, but the billowy folds of his cravat and the gold piping on the trim of his double-breasted coat.
He cleared his throat. “I thank you all for coming this evening, and the event is made even richer by the presence of my niece, Miss Julia Twethewey. We are so pleased you have joined us.” He lifted his glass higher. “To a long and happy visit.”
She smiled as warm murmurs of agreement circled the table. Indeed, it was a kind welcome. But as she looked at the strange faces, there was so much she did not know.
Geographically she was not that far from home, but indeed, there was no denying she was in a very different world.
Chapter 11
Lively conversation echoed and laughter abounded as Isaac remained with the male guests in the dining room. The ladies, led by Mrs. Lambourne, had retreated to Lanwyn Manor’s drawing room, leaving the men to drink their port and discuss mining business. Smoke puffed from clay pipes and cheroots mixed with that from the hearth’s fire. To an outsider the assembly might appear nothing more than a comfortable gathering of friends with nary a care in the world.
The pretense of camaraderie made Isaac uncomfortable.
He cherished his genuine friends, such as Charlie and Margaret, and pretending to be otherwise was difficult. Regardless, it was important to play the role he’d inherited—a miner who needed to manage the interest of his own undertakings.
Isaac moved to stand next to the window and stared into the rain-smeared black night. As he listened to the men’s chattering of hunting and pistols, his frustration grew. Gathered here were the best minds in mining, and not a single soul had the courage to bring up last night’s events. Instead, laughter and gaiety ruled the room, and his brother was at the heart of it. Just as Isaac had made up his mind to be the one to address it, footsteps sounded.
He glanced over his shoulder to see Dunstan approaching, port in hand. “Heard about your experience at the Gray Owl last night.”
“No doubt everyone’s heard about it.”
Dunstan regarded the laughing guests, joking and making merry, behind him. He heaved a sigh and shook his graying head. “These are precarious times. There’s a great deal at stake. But I don’t have to tell you that.”
The Thief of Lanwyn Manor Page 7
