“Ah, so you can visit the houses of ill-repute while you are in London in case you are a free man?” Wenna regretted the words the instant they came from her mouth. Why had she said such a thing? Was it her damned pride? Was it because she still ached inside at the thought of Trevan being intimate with another woman? A prostitute at that. She watched Trevan’s gaze harden. “I – Trevan…”
Trevan cut off her attempt at an apology, “I do not have time for silly arguments, Wenna. The women, children and families of the Avalon Society Members have been threatened. The Brown Coats have been infiltrating the homes of our members through servants. Harry, myself, and some of the other founding members are to bring some of the Glastonbury finds to exchange for Owen’s daughter.” He didn’t want to say it, but he did, “We believe they intend to kill the senior members of the Avalon Society when we deliver what they want.” He watched her carefully and saw her eyes grow wide with fear.
“You must not go!” Wenna commanded.
“I have to, Wenna. Tremayne is staying here at Menadue. My men and I will stop in Devon at Eveleigh Park to collect Harry and Lyons family, Tristan, Julyan and their men. We will number over forty. Harry and the others number twenty-one. I cannot tell anyone where I am staying. If you need to reach me, give your message to Tremayne. Do not leave the house, and for now, you should not trust the servants, with the exception of Diggory and Mrs. Moon.”
Wenna nodded. “Be careful, Trevan,” she whispered softly. Tears stung her eyes.
“Where do we stand, Wenna?” Trevan implored. “Are we still betrothed? I must know before I go.”
Trevan’s heart ached when he saw how sad his question made Wenna. She began to cry. He had already noticed the deep, dark circles beneath her eyes. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but he could not allow himself to do so.
She shook her head. “I still cannot think about that. I’m having a difficult t-time with this.” A sob escaped her.
“What of the vicar? Are you still considering him?”
Wenna began sobbing. Why was Trevan making things so difficult? “I – I don’t know what I am doing!” she spat angrily then sobbed harder.
Trevan stiffened then. “I am obviously making things worse for you, Wenna, I will go. I will talk to you upon my return. If it is safe when I return to Menadue, you may return to Callywith.” Trevan turned and left the room. He didn’t intend to do it, but the door slammed shut behind him.
Once again, Wenna collapsed into tears. What was wrong with her? Why could she not get through this? She loved Trevan, didn’t she?
..
Two days later Morva found Wenna and Senny in the tiny parlour. Wenna had stayed with her sister most of the time since Trevan’s departure.
“There you two are!” Morva smiled as she entered the room. “Senny, Elowen was looking for you. She needs help with something in the morning parlour.”
Senny smiled and rose. “I will go to her, Aunt Morva.” She paused to kiss Morva’s cheek and hurried from the room leaving Morva and Wenna alone. Morva followed Senny to the door. Instead of leaving the room, she closed the door and turned to face Wenna.
Wenna looked to Morva from where she sat on the window seat.
“Wenna, you look miserable. You’ve been moping around for days. You won’t talk to anyone. I was hoping you would come to me, but this has gone on long enough. If your dear mother were still with us, I am certain she would have spoken with you before now. I promised her when she became ill that I would always be there for you and your siblings. I intend to keep my promise. I think it’s time we talk.”
Wenna nodded. Her eyes misted with tears. “Did Trevan tell you, Aunt Morva?”
“Yes, dear, he did.” Morva came and sat beside Wenna. She patted her hand. “I know how hard it is to accept that Trevan was with another woman.”
Wenna nodded. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “It’s all I can think about. I know I was engaged to John at the time, but now I realize I never loved John. I’ve always loved Trevan. I was hurt, ‘tis the only reason I agreed to marry John.”
“I’m going to tell you something that I’ve only told but three of my children, Wenna. When Thomas and I married, his father was still the Duke. Shortly after Trevan was born, Thomas’s father passed suddenly, much like my dear Thomas did eighteen months ago. Up until that time, my husband devoted much time to me. When he took on the role of the duke, everything changed. It seemed the only time we ever spoke privately for any length of time was in the bedchamber.”
Morva continued with a sigh, “Tremayne was born two years later, and I was kept very busy running this house, seeing to all of our people’s needs and raising my children. When Thomas’ duties started keeping him up later and he would have to rise earlier, he suggested I sleep in the lady’s chamber so I could get my rest. He said he was worried because I looked so tired.”
“At first I believed it was because he loved me, but as time passed and he came to me less and less, I started to think he no longer loved or wanted me as he once did. I became quite jealous. Instead of talking to him and telling him how I felt, I distanced myself. I wanted him to hurt, to feel my loss. It didn’t quite work the way I wanted it to.”
Morva sighed, “Two years passed with him being hurt and wondering why I had turned away from him and why I no longer loved him. During that time, he found solace in the arms of another woman for s short time. He did not love her. He was hurting and left wondering what he had done to drive me away.”
“I learned then, when a man’s heart is broken, he loses a great deal. His manhood is threatened. He must prove to himself that he still has power and that he matters. I did not know of Thomas’ indiscretions until the woman showed up at the servant’s entrance with her newborn babe that resulted from her brief affair with my husband. She was poor, and ill. The birth had been difficult. I brought her into my house and cared for her until she died. The babe was Tristan…”
Wenna looked to Morva in shock. “Tristan?”
Morva wiped a tear from her cheek. “I named him. I cared for him as I would my own, for he was Thomas’s child. I love him as much as I love all the others. Upon the death of his natural mother, he became my son. I realized I had forced Thomas into the arms of another woman. He did neglect me, but it was never intentional on his part. I think you already know the Chynoweth men take their responsibilities very seriously.”
Wenna nodded slowly.
Morva took a deep breath and continued. “After the woman, her name was Mary, arrived with the babe, Thomas and I talked. We really talked. We didn’t argue. We realized we loved one another, had both been wrong and we worked to put things to rights as best we could. From that point forward we made certain that we told the other of our love and how much we meant to each other; even if circumstances kept us from spending time together.”
Morva smiled. “Our relationship strengthened after that. In time, I forgot about him turning to another woman. I focused only on what we had. Before Thomas died, we told Trevan, Tremayne and Tristan of the nature of Tristan’s birth. He was treated just like my other sons here, at Menadue. The true nature of his birth, legally, would have prevented him from being accepted by society as a member of the family. Yet, we baptized him as ours, the vicar never even questioned his birth and wrote me in as his mother as with all my other children. The church records state he is my son. None hereabouts have ever questioned the circumstances of his birth. The way everything turned out was in Tristan’s favor.”
Morva added, “It’s why Great Aunt Demelza and her husband William, Thomas’ uncle by marriage, chose Tristan to inherit his Viscountcy. Technically, it should have gone to Tremayne as the second son, but he waived the inheritance so Tristan might have it. They all wanted to make certain Tristan truly felt a part of this family.” Morva removed her handkerchief and wiped at her tears.
“I held Tristan in my arms when he was two days old and I raised him as my own. I have always felt he was my son.”
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Morva looked to Wenna. “If you were to ask my advice, I would tell you that if you love Trevan, and I think that you do, that you should try to work things out even though it seems a difficult task.”
“Oh, Aunt Morva!” Wenna hugged her. “I fear I have ruined everything with Trevan, he was so angry.”
“When he returns, Wenna, talk to him. I know you love him and I am certain he loves you. I think you two can work it out if you both agree to forget the past and just move forward.”
“Do you really think so?” Wenna asked with a wistful smile.
“I do.” Morva took Wenna’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.
Wenna nodded as she dried her tears. “I will speak to him when he returns.” She asked, “Aunt Morva, you truly get to the point where you can forget he was with another woman?”
“The pain lessens with the passing of time, and as long as you do not dwell upon it, it becomes bearable,” Morva answered her honestly.
“I will speak with him when he returns.” Wenna smiled hopefully.
Chapter Eight
Swandown Manor, North Devon, June 1834
They walked along the path leading from the small churchyard toward Swandown Manor.
Jack watched as the black carriage led by six horses wearing black ostrich plume headdresses removed from the lane. None of the Avalon Society members spoke as they made their way along the path. They had come because Charlie was an Avalon Society member, but more importantly, he was a friend to them all.
The day was eerily quiet and moody with ominous black clouds hanging in the sky. Jack noted there was not even birdsong, only heavy silence. Until the slow knell of the bell from the church tower filled the air.
Charles “Charlie” Inwood, Lord Silverley, was laid to rest in the churchyard at his home, Swandown Manor. His coffin, covered with black velvet and an intricately engraved, brass breastplate, had been lowered into the grave before the gentlemen departed the Inwood family graveyard. When they were nearly to the Manor, the sound of many shovels scooping earth into the grave began. The Avalon Society members looked to one another as they walked, their expressions somber.
Charlie’s parents, Lord and Lady Stanbridge, had insisted their party’s ladies accompany them today. The ladies waited inside the Manor with the women of the Inwood household.
Upon their arrival back at the Manor, the Avalon society Members and their ladies would join the family in the drawing room and stay for a meal before returning to Roseland Abbey, on the Hartland peninsula, to spend the rest of the afternoon and evening. Lord Stanbridge had insisted his son’s fellows and their families remain for the Inwood family’s meal. Jack and his party would leave to make the rest of their journey to Menadue, the Duke of Penrose’s home in Cornwall, early tomorrow morning.
Jack already knew Lady Stanbridge was taking Charlie’s death hard. That much had been evident upon their arrival at Swandown earlier. Lady Wednesday appeared to be her constant companion, and though teary at times, did not break down as her mama did.
The ever-beautiful Lady Tuesday Inwood had impressed Jack with her strength and courage. He had witnessed her tearing up once or twice but she never gave in to those tears. She stood with her back ramrod straight, taking care of everything her mother seemed unable to do. It was obvious Tuesday had taken over the running of the household in the time of her mama’s great grief.
It was Lady Tuesday whom his eyes sought the moment he stepped into the large drawing room. Even dressed entirely in black, in the midst of a somber room draped in black baize, Lady Tuesday stirred his blood. Yes, even in black, she was stunning.
The beautiful blonde had always had the oddest effect on him. He had noticed it for the first time four years ago at Roseland Abbey. Every time he had seen her since, even if it was for the briefest of moments, his body still reacted to her. It was instant arousal. His mind would become flooded with carnal thoughts of all he wanted to do to her. All the ways he could give her pleasure.
Today was different. Oh, his body still reacted to her. He still wanted her. Yet, today, Jack found he wanted more. He had the overwhelming urge to gather Tuesday into his arms and hold her tightly against him. He longed to tell her everything would be fine, they would all take care of her and her family. He wished to bring a smile to her face. He kept imagining himself softly kissing her temple then whispering words of comfort into her ear. The need he felt to wrap Tuesday in his arms was simply overwhelming.
Just as had happened in Roseland those four years ago, he couldn’t shake the spell Lady Tuesday had on him. Oh, he had tried four years ago by taking a delectable Italian mistress while he and his fellows worked in Italy after quitting Roseland Abbey. Though Antonia had sated his lust, he would still lie wide-eyed and awake most nights thinking of Lady Tuesday. Countless times, he recalled those gorgeous, French blue eyes, her hair, her scent, violets, and the delicate beauty of her face. Her body. Though unseen by him, even her demure gowns could not hide the promise of the charms well hidden.
For four years, he had sought to ease his desire elsewhere, but images of Lady Tuesday Inwood invaded his thoughts often. She was Charlie’s sister; forbidden fruit as it were. The only way he ever felt he could touch her was if it came with an offer of marriage. The thought of marriage had always been strong enough to keep him from her, until today.
Charlie was gone now. Apparently, Jack wanted Tuesday badly enough to give up his freedom and offer for her. Today was not the time or the place. Lady Tuesday and her family were in mourning. When the Brown Coat business was finished, he vowed he would return to Swandown and court Lady Tuesday properly. When her mourning period was over, they could marry if she was agreeable to his suit.
When the Avalon Society members paused to greet the ladies of the family and offer their condolences, Jack managed to grasp Tuesday’s hand. She turned surprised, large French blue eyes upward to meet his gaze. He melted looking into those gorgeous, blue pools. The jolt he felt while he held her hand in his shocked him.
“Lady Tuesday,” he began softly, “I am heavy of heart today. I wish to offer you my deepest sympathies. If there is ever anything you need from me, you have but to ask,” Jack bowed and brought her gloved hand to his lips ever so briefly. Though slight, the contact was enough to heat his blood. When he straightened and looked upon her, he saw the flush in her cheeks, noted her quick intake of breath. He saw surprise and something else in those incredible eyes.
“Thank you, Lord Elveston. You are very kind. I appreciate you being here with us today,” Tuesday tried desperately to keep her voice calm and even. It would seem Lord Elveston had the same effect on her as always. Her blood raced, she felt giddy just looking into his handsome face. The tingling from his lips against her gloved hand made her shiver. As always, she wished to reach out and touch the cleft in his chin. She had given up on Lord Elveston long ago. She told herself this was just the remnants of her previous, silly, young woman’s infatuation and nothing more.
Jack leaned closer to her. He shouldn’t have, for the soft scent of violets teased him far more than he could imagine. He whispered, “I mean it, Lady Tuesday. Charlie is gone, I am here for you.”
Had he just? Bloody hell, yes he had! He may as well have gotten on his knees and groveled at her feet. He exhaled. What was this spell, this power, she had over him? He had never been able to name it. He never understood it.
Tuesday cocked her head slightly and looked up into his amber-colored eyes. She saw sincerity. She choked up. Tears threatened. She was quite moved by his words, this was Lord Elveston, after all. A man whom in the past made certain never to show any emotion toward her because he knew she had a tendre for him all those years ago.
“Thank you, Lord Elveston.” She exhaled. “I appreciate that, sir.” She realized she was smiling at him. She regained her composure and her serious demeanor.
The corners of Jack’s mouth turned up slightly when he witnessed the very moment she realized his words had been ge
nuine. He gave her a nod and moved on to greet her sister, Lady Wednesday.
Fear clutched at her as she studied Jack from the corner of her eye. He had moved on to greet her sister. Tuesday could not be so foolish again. Lord Elveston would never be interested in marriage, or her, for that matter. According to the gossip in London, she was far from his type, which was rumored to be experienced matrons. She could not allow herself to become infatuated by him another time and have her heart strings tugged so painfully again.
She was being silly. She was much older and wiser. She would not allow Jack to charm her again. She turned to give the Duke of Penrose her full attention as he approached her. Tuesday vowed to forget about Jack Drayton, the Earl of Elveston.
Catherine Feywood Hewitt, the Marchioness of Burrow, was numb. There was no other word for it. She was an empty shell. She was devastated. She knew not how to move forward from this point.
She stood in the drawing room draped in mourning black and looked out the window in the direction of the churchyard. She longed to go to the spot. She longed to kneel at the grave of her true love.
In truth, if it were not for the precious gift Charlie had left her with, she guessed she might want to lie on top of his grave and die there. She wanted to cry. She could not. None would understand her grief on this day.
Ruan Menwennick, Lord Ince, lightly touched her arm and whispered, “Please sit, Lady Burrow. I shall procure some refreshment for you. You look pale.”
She supposed she was pale. She hadn’t slept in days, perhaps weeks, even a month. When her condition was realized, she let Lord St. Erth know by letter and told Lord Ince in person. Her husband, the Marquess of Burrow, could not find out about her condition.
Her life had turned into a horror upon marrying Burrow. Four years ago, her beloved Charlie had come to her aid along with his friends, Lord St. Erth, Lord Ince and Lord Roscarrow. The three latter gentlemen were with The Department in London, an elite force of men who worked for the King. Her husband was not only a cruelly sick, sadistic husband, but also a suspected criminal plotting against the Crown, which is why The Department had stepped in to protect her. She’d had to remain at the Marquess’ estate in Bath, but Burrow had not been allowed to come near her since St. Erth took over four years before. Lord St. Erth had provided her a trusted maid and a substantial guard that made certain it was so.
Lords of Retribution (Lords of Avalon series) Page 15
