“No, sir, you do not.”
“Look at them all.” Dunstan set down his glass on the side table next to the window, retrieved a lacquered snuffbox from his waistcoat, and opened the lid. “All hoping to gain access to ol’ Bal Tressa, but I daresay Lambourne’s playing them all for fools.” He pinched the black powder between his fingers and inhaled before he extended the box to Isaac.
Isaac waved off the gesture and with a shrug Dunstan returned the box to his pocket. “You’ve heard Lambourne’s been in talks with Marcus Elliot?”
Isaac folded his arms over his chest. “Yes. Apparently that is why he was absent during his niece’s distress.”
Dunstan gave a dry laugh. “Speaking of Lambourne’s niece, your brother seemed quite enchanted by her charms during dinner.”
Isaac chuckled at the change of topic. “Noticed that, did you?”
“I gather everyone did. Not a bad tactic, I suppose. If I wanted a shot at Bal Tressa and I were twenty years younger and unmarried, wooing the owner’s niece might seem like a valid approach.”
“I’m not sure the Davies family would agree.” Isaac shot a glance over to Mr. Davies, whose scowl during dinner signaled his disapproval of the budding friendship between Matthew and the guest of honor. Isaac had been seated next to the discarded Miss Davies at dinner, and despite his best efforts to be an amiable dinner neighbor, her lack of interest in this Blake brother was evident.
“True.” Dunstan retrieved his port. “But Lambourne is so unaccustomed with the workings of a mine that it just might work.”
“Have you interest in Lambourne’s mine?”
Dunstan drew an exaggerated breath, turned his back toward the window, and assessed the group. A hint of a smile quirked one side of his mouth. “No, I don’t. I’ve set my sights in a different direction.”
“Oh?” Isaac raised his brows. “And what’s that?”
Dunstan leaned closer and lowered his raspy voice even further. “I’ve heard chatter that you might consider opening Wheal Gwenna again. About time, says I.”
Isaac jerked, shocked to hear his mine mentioned. “Wheal Gwenna? Where’d you hear that?”
“Charlie Benson. Said he was working with you to gather capital.”
“Ah.” Charlie was his good friend and a most loyal comrade, but he often had a hard time keeping his own counsel. “Wheal Gwenna’s closed and will likely stay that way. Even if I did plan to open her, it’d take a great deal of time, not to mention funds. With my work at Wheal Tamsen, I’m not sure how I’d manage.”
Dunstan drew a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his cleanly shaven chin. “Tell me, young Blake, do your plans include Bal Tressa like every other man in the room?”
Isaac shrugged. “Running a mine like Bal Tressa takes a great deal of money. You forget Matthew owns Wheal Tamsen, not me. His financial and business decisions are his. I manage his mine, and nothing more.”
“Yet you profit from it.”
Isaac nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Let me ask you this plainly.” Dunstan shifted his ample weight and squared his broad shoulders. “Are you seeking investors?”
Isaac widened his stance as he considered the question. True, he and Charlie had been talking—dreaming—about opening Wheal Gwenna, but frustration crept into his countenance. Charlie was eager, almost too eager, to secure investors. Wheal Gwenna was still Isaac’s mine, and he’d decide who’d have influence and who would not. But now wasn’t the time. He didn’t have sufficient funds, nor did he want outside investors affecting the mine operations. He wanted to be master of his own.
Then again, every man in the room wanted to be master of his own destiny, and unfortunately, very few were.
“Not at this time, no.”
Dunstan narrowed his eyes. “Have you considered that if other mines were finding success, the hullabaloo about Bal Tressa would cease?”
They stared at each other for several moments, the truth of the statement hanging heavily between them.
“I, for one, would be eager for such a venture, especially if I were young and unattached. You’ve much to gain,” Dunstan said.
After a pause, Isaac finished his sentence for him. “And not much to lose.”
Chapter 12
As Julia sat in the drawing room with the other ladies after the meal, she looked to Oscar, Aunt Beatrice’s little gray dog sitting on the settee next to her.
He looked as bored as she felt.
Julia lifted Oscar to her lap, mindful not to catch his nails on the delicate folds of her gown. He grunted with the disturbance but quickly nestled into place.
Absently she stroked the dog’s head, observing the other ladies assembled. Aunt Beatrice led three guests in a game of whist. Two others, nearly asleep, sat on either side of her, and Caroline was conveniently absent. Julia found herself slightly envious that her cousin had found a way to elude the dull party. How she wished Jane were well enough to join the gathering, but with the exception of their talk earlier that day, every time Julia had visited her, she’d been asleep.
Julia let her posture droop ever so slightly. Selfishly she’d hoped to meet ladies who were as friendly as Miss Prynne and Miss Trebell, but in truth, these ladies present seemed to want to know nothing of her. She’d especially hoped that Miss Davies, the pretty brunette who appeared about her age, would become a friend to her while she was in Goldweth, but as it was, she said little and stayed close to her mother.
Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps and deep voices invaded their interlude, and Julia lifted her head. Finally the men were to join them.
Julia straightened her posture anew and smoothed a curl away from her face as they filtered in. They brought a certain vitality that her female companions had lacked, and within minutes, conversations flared and laughter once again filled the space.
She held her breath until the Blake brothers at last entered. She was already certain she had, at the very least, a friend in Matthew. Their amusing conversation at dinner had confirmed it, and the knowledge that her aunt believed him to be a viable suitor recommended him that much more.
Matthew entered first, with Isaac right behind him. Even though Matthew had been so attentive and even flirtatious, she could not deny her interest in the younger brother. She needed to find a way to speak with him, to thank him for his intervention. She smoothed her skirt and lifted her chin. Fortunately, she was not prone to shyness—a trait that, at times, had the tendency to lead to a downfall.
Mrs. Davies, in a flash of dark-purple silk, jumped from her chair and was at Matthew’s side, taking his arm to capture his attention. Isaac escaped the ambush and skirted around them to the back of the room and stood near the garden doors.
With a glance to ensure her aunt was engaged in conversation, Julia tucked the tiny dog under her arm, stood, and, careful not to draw attention to herself, stole across the room along the back wall.
At first he did not notice her. She drew closer. “Mr. Blake.”
He turned, appearing almost shocked at her approach. His gaze flicked from her to his brother, shifted to Oscar, and then met hers once again. “Miss Twethewey.”
She smiled her sweetest smile and adjusted the dog in her arms. She’d probably be wise to rely on her aunt’s guidance in this matter, but her curiosity got the better of her. “I was hoping to speak with you. I owe you a debt of gratitude for your assistance and have not had the opportunity to thank you.”
His expression softened. “I’m only sorry it happened at all. Have you recovered from the ordeal?”
“I have, as you can see. I looked for you after things settled down to thank you, but the innkeeper said you’d tried to find the thieves.”
“A few of us did try, but to no avail.”
“’Tis a shame.”
“It is, but all’s not lost. We’ve ways of finding information. All in good time and we’ll bring them to justice.”
She considered him for several moments. He did not sh
y away from the conversation, and he seemed to have a good grasp on the landscape.
She stepped closer and cast a glance over at her aunt. “I’ve been so curious about something, but I am not sure if it is quite appropriate for me to ask.”
“If it is of any help, you may ask me whatever you wish, and I will do my best to answer.”
In that moment, she decided to trust Mr. Blake. “Does someone wish my uncle harm?”
* * *
Miss Twethewey fixed her intent eyes, blue and wide, on him.
And she was waiting for his response.
It would be difficult to deny this woman anything, especially the answer to such a simple question, but it wasn’t his place to divulge family matters, especially to a woman he hardly knew.
Isaac cleared his throat and shifted, casting a glance toward his brother. He’d decided earlier to avoid Miss Twethewey, even before Matthew made a fool of himself flirting and fawning over her. Just because he’d assisted this young lady, he had no right to expect anything from her.
But now she sought him out and still awaited an answer.
She adjusted the small dog in her arms. “Please, Mr. Blake. I would not ask unless I felt it absolutely necessary. Earlier today I overheard a conversation that suggested my uncle might be in danger, and it concerned me.”
He drew a deep breath. He could get lost in those bewitching eyes—that alluring expression—if he was not cautious.
He should tell her he knew nothing.
It would be best not to get involved.
But perhaps it was already too late. They’d experienced the attack together, and after what had happened to her, she deserved to know the truth.
He selected his words with care. “When your uncle inherited one of the most profitable mines in the area, he canceled the contract with the adventurer running the mine, which put a great many miners out of work. Times are difficult, and my suspicion is that the miners have a notion to take matters into their own hands to pressure him to reopen Bal Tressa.”
Knitting her brow, she pressed her lips together before speaking. “Then I overheard correctly. My uncle is in danger.”
“I don’t think it’s as dire as all that. I’m sure your family is quite safe here, but there’s a great deal of uncertainty afoot, and uncertainty breeds mistrust.”
She pivoted and leaned closer. “But do you think that I—?”
“Julia?” a sharp voice trilled from across the room. “Julia!”
Beatrice Lambourne dashed toward them, her face flushed from the room’s heat, her bosom heaving with each breath.
He almost laughed at the expression of near horror on her face. He could hardly be surprised. By her actions this night alone, it was clear she viewed Matthew as a possible suitor for her niece. Isaac, clearly, was not permitted to be near her, so here she was, sweeping in to save her niece from the undesirable younger brother.
“Aunt Beatrice! You startled me.”
Mrs. Lambourne wrapped her hands protectively around Miss Twethewey’s arm and tugged. She lifted her chin and looked down her nose at Isaac for several seconds. “Now that the men have rejoined us, it’s time for the music, and as our guest, I should like for you to entertain us first.”
Miss Twethewey’s pleasant smile faded, and she shook her head. “Oh, Aunt, I—”
“Oh, fie, child. Your aunt Delia gave you the finest pianoforte instruction. Surely she’d be proud to know you have entertained us so splendidly. Give me Oscar and prepare yourself.” She released Miss Twethewey’s arm long enough to settle the dog in the crook of her arm and then clapped to garner the attention of everyone in the room. “Come all. Come over to the instruments. Julia has graciously agreed to play for us, and you will not be disappointed.”
Miss Twethewey offered him a wary smile before she obeyed her aunt. Beatrice Lambourne made a great show of ushering her niece to the pianoforte positioned in the room’s corner, ordering chairs to be drawn close and for all to be silent.
From his spot against the far wall, Isaac observed the activity. Each lady in attendance would present a talent. Mrs. Lambourne would play the harp. Miss Davies would sing. Caroline Lambourne would also play the pianoforte. Everyone in attendance would listen politely and praise extravagantly. It was a charade—a parade of accomplishments that could, at times, be painful to endure.
Normally his interest would fade at this point in the evening and his mind would wander.
But not tonight.
As Miss Twethewey lifted her fingers to the keys, his focus narrowed. The music, haunting and soft, seemed to materialize from the air. And then she started to sing.
He was not sure if it was the bizarre nature of recent events or his desire for something different, but he could not look away from the lady. He’d never seen anyone like her. Did she know how alluring she was, with soft tendrils escaping their pins and cascading to her shoulders? His brother had been right—not many strangers came to their town, much less beautiful ones. Isaac knew nothing of her other than her relations, but he did know how she felt in his arms as he pushed her to safety, and that alone invaded his thoughts.
Motion beside him caught his eye. Not far from him Matthew leaned forward in his chair. Isaac recognized the look of conquest on his brother’s face.
She’d prefer Matthew, of course. He possessed the family fortune. The business. The estate. His brother was the heir and, as such, held a special place in society—a fact Isaac had come to peace with a very long time ago.
Her music soared, soaking the room with a melancholy sweetness. He held his breath as he watched her hands move over the keyboard, bathed in warm candlelight. An ache, all too familiar, all too poignant, settled in his chest as he watched her. A longing for something—or someone—to round out the rough corners of his life.
Yes, he wanted the type of relationship that Charlie and Margaret had. Only one or two young ladies in the past had caught his eye, but regardless of anything he’d do or say, they’d been drawn to Matthew—or at least to what Matthew had to offer.
He’d grown used to it. But now, this inexplicable discomfort battled for attention.
Perhaps it was that he, in some way, felt responsible for her.
Perhaps it was the confidence in her voice or the shape of her mouth that made her appear to always have a hint of a smile.
He glanced around at the other faces. Miss Davies glared at Matthew from the corner, as did her mama. Next to her sat Mrs. Lambourne, an expression of smug satisfaction curving her lips, and next to her, Caroline oozed boredom. If the death of old man Rowe disrupted the balance of life in Goldweth, the arrival of Miss Julia Twethewey, he surmised, would unsettle it that much more.
The door of the next room flung open, and footsteps pounded in a riotous manner across the floor.
The music stopped. All turned toward the clamor.
There stood Timmy Beale, an underground captain at Wheal Tamsen. His dark eyes were wide, and with his working clothes—dirty trousers and dirt-smeared coat—he appeared utterly out of place.
There was only one reason he would interrupt such a gathering.
Isaac jumped to his feet, his breath lodged in his throat.
Gasping for air, Beale swept his hat from his head and fixed his wild gaze on the Blake brothers. “There’s been . . . an accident. You’re needed . . . at Wheal Tamsen.”
Chapter 13
Julia dropped her hands from the keyboard, shocked to see the filthy worker in the elegant drawing room, and even more shocked at his declaration.
Isaac flew from the room. Mr. Dunstan, Matthew, and Uncle William followed.
Murmurs and whispers raced around the high-ceilinged chamber. For several moments none of the other guests moved. Then Aunt Beatrice stood from her chair, her cheeks flushed a vibrant pink. A forced laugh bubbled from her. “My. This is unusual, to be sure, but I’m certain all will be well. The men have it in good hands, I daresay. Julia, dear, please, continue.”
; Julia bit her lip, unsure of what to do. An accident had just sent guests running from the room, and her aunt wanted her to continue?
“Julia,” Aunt Beatrice repeated with greater force. “Play.”
Uncomfortable heat crept up her neck, and Julia returned her fingertips to the smooth, cool keys. She glanced up at the eyes on her—unfamiliar eyes—and she wished she were tucked safely in her tower chamber.
She pressed her fingers in the familiar pattern—one note after the other. After several bars and a smattering of finger slips, the song concluded.
As the accolades commenced, nausea swelled. How could anyone remain calm and be entertained by her meager melody at such a time? An accident had sent four men running from the room. Did such an event have no effect on them?
As the room once again fell silent, Julia retreated to one of the rear chairs and Miss Davies took her turn at the pianoforte. Julia found it hard to remain still and listen, but everyone else seemed unruffled. At length, Matthew and her uncle slipped back into the room and waited silently near Julia. Isaac and Mr. Dunstan were noticeably absent.
At the conclusion of Miss Davies’s performance, Aunt Beatrice stood and approached the returning men. “What has happened?”
“An accident, at my mine,” Matthew said, his face very grave.
Those around her exchanged knowing, tentative glances that seemed to have a language the others understood.
“One dead, at least two injured,” Mr. Blake continued after a pause. “Isaac’s left to assess the situation. I daresay it will be grave indeed. Sadly, as we are all aware, mining is not without incident, but every man who descends the ladders knows the danger.”
“Should you not go as well?” Julia stood, surprised at his lack of urgency.
All eyes turned toward her.
She stiffened. Perhaps she should have held her tongue. She was speaking into a world of which she knew nothing. Of mines, of deaths.
The Thief of Lanwyn Manor Page 8
