Echoes in Stone (15 page)

It was true. Jessa hadn’t shared a meal with the reclusive man since that first morning. She ate breakfast and lunch in the small morning room, usually alone. Occasionally, Winston startled her by joining her, but she’d ceased to stand on ceremony with him. He unnerved her, but they’d reached a sort of truce. She sometimes joined Holly in the nursery for an early supper, but more often, took her evening meal in her room, accompanied by a book.

Mrs. Penrose took up a tarnished fork, resuming her reminiscences while she polished it. “The captain didn’t have an easy time of it growing up. No brothers or sisters. The family had a townhouse in London, for a time. When they went up there, his father could most often be found in some gambling hell or chasing after a well turned ankle under some light skirt.”

Mrs. Penrose sniffed her disapproval. “His mother, I’m sorry to say, didn’t help. Quite pretty in her youth, but her looks didn’t last. She was weak. Instead of calling her husband to task for his behavior, she’d go to bed for days with her megrims and her smelling salts. When his lordship lost at the tables—and he lost far more than he won—they’d retire back here to Tremayne until he could raise another stake.”

Jessa sat unmoving, not daring to interrupt the usually reserved Mrs. Penrose.

“The lad grew up higgledy-piggledy,” Mrs. Penrose said, then followed her words with a deep sigh. “When there was money for tutors, he had them. When there wasn’t, he had the library here. As a child, he adored his mother, but as he grew older, her refusal to rein in his father frustrated him. The truth is, when they were in the chips, her recklessness nearly rivaled his. Then, just like that, he lost them both.”

The housekeeper looked beyond Jessa, peering into a distant past. “Lady Tremayne had an affair. Well, who could blame her, with Lord Tremayne as a husband. There was a scandalous scene at a dinner party. The next morning, the captain found them. His mother lying on her bedroom floor, strangled. His father on the floor near her, still holding the gun he’d used to take his own life.”

Jessa’s stomach clenched at the bald telling of such a horrific tale, and her heart grieved for the lost little boy, ignored by two such selfish wretches. No wonder Dash Tremayne lacked so many social graces, with such a careless upbringing. With no good example to lean on from his own parents, what kind of a father could he be to Holly? “Please, Mrs. Penrose, go on. I’d like to know more about the man who married my stepsister.”

“His lordship was only nineteen when he came into his title. The only things left of any value were the books. He sold them, though it near killed him to do it. He used the stake to buy a share of a ship’s cargo. Those were lean times, as we all waited for the new master’s gamble to pay off. And it did. Again and again.”

Jessa didn’t ask about the cargo on which the captain had staked his small inheritance. Even in Littleton-upon-Puddling, stories of the smugglers and wreckers in Cornwall were legendary. It wasn’t as prevalent now as it had been in the last century, but there was little doubt no taxes were paid for the brandy in the captain’s study, nor on the fine cigars both he and Winston smoked.

“Eventually,” Mrs. Penrose said, “he bought a ship of his own. He brought back many fine things from those far-off places, and bought more ships. With every successful sailing, he worked to restore this old place. Bought back many of the books he’d had to sell. Replaced or refurbished the furnishings.”

Mrs. Penrose removed her spectacles, wiping a tear from her eye. “Bless his heart, the captain’s not had an easy time of it. But he’s a hard worker. He took in his cousin, Winston Evers, when the man had nowhere else to turn. He looked after all of us. He poured his heart into this house. The towers are still unsafe, however, which is why you can’t go into them, but I’ve no doubt one day he’ll have those standing tall and strong again as well.”

“And now he’s going to have to replace another room,” Jessa said. Once again, she’d slept in the red and gold room in the master’s wing. If anyone ever learned she’d slept in the same wing as a man, her reputation would never recover. Then again, the mere fact of her traveling here alone was enough to throw her morals into question.

And if Mother ever learned of the intimacy she and Dash had shared in the forest? An uncomfortable blush rose in her cheeks. Who was Marguerite to look down her nose at anyone? She’d let passion carry her away. Destroy her and her family. At least Jessa hadn’t gone that far.

Yet.

“Never you mind about that room, dear,” Mrs. Penrose said, mistaking the reason for Jessa’s pink cheeks. “We’re just grateful you weren’t hurt worse and that the fire spread no further.”

“How are the captain’s injuries healing, Mrs. Penrose? The only times I’ve seen him since that night have been in Holly’s rooms. I didn’t want to ask in front of her.”

Mrs. Penrose reached across the table to pat Jessa’s hand. “Don’t worry, Miss. His burns were about like yours, except, of course, on the opposite arm. My salve has done a world of good, just as it has for you.” She pulled her hand back, sniffed, then resumed polishing the ornate silver ladle she now held. “In the grand scheme of things, his latest injuries are nothing. You have only to look at the man to see he’s suffered worse.”

“Mrs. Penrose, I hope you won’t think me too forward for asking, but there’s no one else I can talk to. How did the captain’s face come to be so sadly scarred?” Jessa’s hand dropped to her lap. “I don’t want to embarrass him by asking. He seems—sensitive about it.”

He’d slapped her hand away when she’d reached to touch that scar. She’d wanted to let him know it didn’t bother her, but he’d leapt from her as if she’d scalded him. Yes, the ugly, jagged mark had startled her at first, but she’d grown accustomed to the crescent on his face. She scarcely noticed it anymore.

Mrs. Penrose stood, putting the polished pieces away in the storage box. Jessa’s question hung between them, unanswered, while the grandfather clock loudly counted off the long seconds. At last, Mrs. Penrose folded her hands, looking hard at Jessa.

“I don’t know the whole of it, Miss. None of us does. Maybe Mr. Evers does, but if so, he’s never told me. All we know is there was a terrible row that night. From the hallway, we could hear screaming, shouting, but no words. Things thudding against the walls. Glass breaking. The mistress finally came tearing out of the room. Her pretty yellow gown, her hands, even her hair— All covered in blood.”

The housekeeper grew silent, then drew a deep breath. “His lordship stood there in the middle of the room. His clothing torn, the room looking as if a storm had passed through. The blood—he wore as much blood as the mistress. More. His face—”

Mrs. Penrose drew a shuddered breath. “It was the mistress. Your stepsister did that to him, Miss. No more than two weeks later, Lily was dead.”

Mrs. Penrose closed the lid of the silver container with a snap. “She called him a monster, Miss. Evil. If you’ll pardon my saying so, it wasn’t his lordship who was the monster. It was the woman who could tear a man’s face in half like that.”

She strode to the door, then turned back to Jessa. “I’m sorry if it hurts to hear this about your own stepsister, Miss. The captain, for all his gruff ways, is a good man. He’s not evil. But he brought evil into this house the day he brought Lily Palmer home as his wife.”

20.

Papa used to call us his pocketful of posies…

JESSA WAITED IN Dash’s study as the dinner hour grew closer. It was high time they finished the conversation they’d started days ago. If she couldn’t lure the bear from his den, she’d lie in wait for him.

She’d prepared for the meeting as a warrior would prepare for battle. Wearing her favorite evening dress bolstered her courage, in spite of it being several seasons out of fashion. Her life had not been one that required many evening gowns. The frog style closures marching down the front matched the dark green velvet trimmed with black braid. The long full sleeves thankfully covered her burned arm. The top of the gown left her shoulders exposed, so she’d wrapped a lacy black pelerine around them. With no maid and no mirror, the best she’d been able to do with her hair was pull it into a simple chignon on top of her head. Tiny silver hoops danced in her ears.

She considered pouring a glass of sherry, but wanted all her wits about her. Perhaps later. When this was over. When she’d convinced the captain to allow her to take Holly away from this place.

She’d barely settled into one of the wingback chairs when Dash strode into the study. She had no intention of being caught unawares on the sofa again.

“Well, well, Jessamine, have I forgotten an appointment?” He continued past her to his desk, where he poured a hefty measure of brandy into a glass. He waved the decanter in Jessa’s direction. “Something for you, my dear? To take the chill off the evening?”

Wonderful. Dash was in one of his highhanded, sneering moods. Perhaps liquid fortification was in order after all. “A small glass of sherry, please.”

Dash cocked an eyebrow at her response, but poured the refreshment for her. Jessa accepted the crystal without touching him—she could afford no such distractions tonight.
Passion killed Lily
. Jessa needed to keep that in mind. Whatever growing feelings she might have for Dash as a man couldn’t be allowed to sway her. Tonight, she needed to convince him to allow Holly to leave with her. Nothing else mattered.

Dash sank into a corner of the plush sofa, one arm stretched out across the back of it. His other arm rested on the rolled arm, the brandy snifter loose in his grasp. He sipped, watching Jessa over the rim of the glass through narrowed eyes, but said nothing.

Drat the man. Nothing about dealing with him was ever easy. She cleared her throat. It sounded loud in the uncomfortable silence. “I hope you don’t mind, Captain, but I’ve taken the liberty of asking Winston to serve dinner in here. I understand you dine in your study often. I’m hoping you don’t mind my joining you tonight.” Jessa shifted in her chair and sipped her sherry, grateful for the warmth sliding down her suddenly dry throat.

Dash’s only response was a raised eyebrow.

“I’d like to talk to you about Holly. I thought doing so over a shared meal might make the discussion more pleasant.” There. She’d managed to keep her voice calm.

Dash remained seated in his corner of the sofa. They’d been in the room together at least five minutes with no one shouting or upset. A new personal record. The victory lasted mere seconds.

“What you mean, my dear sister-in-law, is that you’re hoping a full belly and a bit of wine will make the beast more amenable to your plans to snatch my daughter away from me. And here I was expecting something cleverer from you. I’m disappointed.”

That quickly, the pleasant camaraderie they’d shared in Holly’s nursery vanished.

He tossed back the last of his drink, then rose to cross to the desk.

Jessa flinched back in her chair, wary of his mood.

He splashed brandy in his glass, then turned back to her. “I’ll give you this, Jessamine. At least you haven’t tried to seduce me into handing Holly over.” He leaned casually back against the desk, eyeing her again over the rim of his glass. “At least, not yet.”

The knock at the door broke the building tension. Dash strode to answer it. Just before he opened the door, he turned back to Jessa, gave her a raffish smile, and winked at her.

“Then again,” he said, “the evening is just beginning.”

DASH LOST HIS smile the instant he turned his back on Jessa.
How dare the chit attempt to beard me in my own den
. He admitted Winston, who pushed a dinner trolley. A timid maid carrying table linens followed him.

While the meal was spread on the gate-legged table before the fire, Dash watched Jessa. She’d risen to watch the dinner preparations, refusing to look at him. He turned just in time to see her gulp down the glass of sherry. Good. He’d unnerved her.

The woman had invited herself to dinner, dressed for seduction. Her green gown matched her wide eyes. Silver strands in her hair glinted in the firelight, matching the silver hoops that dangled from her ears. Those small, pink ears. Delicate. Soft against his tongue. Delicious. Desire stirred in him at the memory. He squashed it through force of will.

How far would Jessamine be willing to go to get what she wanted? If this were Lily, or even Marguerite, he had no doubt they’d be half-naked together on the sofa by now.

Who was this enigmatic, infuriating woman? Not as demure as Janie, the woman to whom he’d once been engaged. Not bold, like Lily, the woman he’d married. In spite of the maddening itch Jessamine raised in him every time she was near, he needed to move cautiously with her.

Dash considered the woman who’d raised both Lily and Jessa. He’d be hard-pressed to name a more amoral harridan than Marguerite Palmer. What was her true relationship to Jessa? To his knowledge, Jack Palmer was Jessa’s father and Marguerite, her stepmother. Yet Jessa spoke of growing up in Marguerite’s household. Sometimes she called her Mother.