Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02] (27 page)

When he said no more, merely watching her in silence while he stirred a sugar lump into his coffee, she felt her temper rise. She had almost forgotten how easily, of late, she could be stirred to fury, but suddenly she found herself snapping, “You can’t mean to keep me a prisoner in this house!”

“What makes you think I have any such intention?”

“If you think you can keep me from riding, you are very much mistaken, sir. I ride every morning that the weather permits. I have done since we came here.”

“Not to Lostwithiel,” he said flatly. “I have no objection to your riding, provided that you take your groom along if you go beyond sight of the house, and provided that both you and he are armed.”

“But I can take care of myself,” she cried, aware that she was losing control but unable to stop herself. “I won’t beg your permission when I want to ride, any more than I asked for Alfred’s. Nor will I submit my destination for your approval!”

“Don’t raise your voice to me. I dislike it very much.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Now, look—”

“You look!” She leaned across the table, glaring at him. “I won’t be told where I can go, and I won’t change my habits just to suit your fusty notions of propriety or safety. I’ve done as I pleased since I was a child, I’ll have you know.”

“We will leave your childhood out of this discussion,” he said. “Things are a little different now.”

“Because I’ve got a husband, I suppose,” she said sarcastically.

“That is certainly a point.”

“Good mercy, you
do
fancy yourself to be some sort of Petruchio,” she snapped. “Well, I’m no Kate for your taming, sir, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

“Don’t be a fool. Leave us,” he added sharply when the new footman looked into the room to see if they required anything more. “I’ll ring when I want you.”

“Yes, sir,” the lad said, effacing himself.

Sir Antony said, “It would perhaps be wise to make certain we are alone before we cross verbal swords,
mon ange.”

“Don’t call me that.” Aware that she sounded like a sullen child, she straightened, shooting him a rueful look.

He smiled. “I did not mean to infuriate you, you know. Nor do I have less faith than I had before in your ability to look out for yourself or Letty. However—”

“I knew there would be a
however.
There is always a
however.”

“Not always. I own, I am perhaps more protective of a wife than I was of a woman I thought was answerable to others, but we must not forget the existence of my unattractive comrades and their uncertainty about the inhabitants of Tuscombe Park.”

“What uncertainty?”

“You will recall that your grandfather was not friendly to the free traders. St. Merryn’s Bay was more likely to prove a trap for the unwary than a haven of refuge.”

“But what has that to do with my riding to Lostwithiel?”

“Only that the coastal gang has yet to take their measure of the new heir.”

“Good mercy, they don’t even know who he is.”

“Just so, but they do know you. Moreover, they know that you are bound to remain of importance, no matter who inherits the estate. I don’t want to see you taken hostage to force Alfred’s hand, or mine.”

“No one would dare try to take me hostage,” she retorted. “If they did, they would soon learn their error.”

“Nevertheless—”

“There is no
nevertheless,
and there will be no
howevers,
either. I may have agreed to remain married to you, but I did not agree to let you order my life.”

“In actual point of fact—”

“Don’t quibble!” She stood up, shaking out the train of her habit. “I promised Wenna and Cubert Breton more than a sennight ago that I would make certain their Jenifry is well treated at Angelique’s. I mean to go today, because as far as I can tell, no one who cares about Jenifry has seen her since Letty and I did a month ago. I must keep my word. Even you can see that.”

“We’ll send someone to inquire about Jenifry,” Sir Antony said patiently. “But until I can better measure the intentions of Jean Matois’s compatriots, you will not ride so far from this house, let alone into the very den of Michael Peryllys.”

She stepped nearer, glaring at him. “I will ride where I choose.”

“Heaven and earth,” he muttered, pushing back his chair and throwing his serviette onto the table, “you’ll do as I say for once, and without this infernal debate and cross-talk. How Will Shakespeare could ever have called women frail—”

“A pox on Shakespeare,” Charley snapped. Refusing to let the unexpected change in his demeanor make her retreat, she went on angrily, “The only thing he wrote worth quoting is ‘What a piece of work is a man!’ Unfortunately, he followed that line with a lot of ridiculous claptrap. And don’t you dare laugh at me,” she cried.

When he only leaned back in his chair and laughed harder, she caught up his bowl of oatmeal in a fit of pure rage and dumped the contents over his head.

A deadly silence fell. Aghast at what she had done, she dropped the empty bowl on the table, turned on her heel, and fled. Glancing back, more than half expecting him to pursue her, she felt strangely disappointed to see that he had not moved.

As she opened the door, he said in carefully measured tones, “‘What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form, in moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god!’” More furious than ever, she slammed the door shut behind her.

Hurrying to the stables, she wondered at her temerity and wondered even more at his apparently mild reaction. It occurred to her then that he might have remained seated, covered in dripping oatmeal and cream, spouting Shakespearean idiocy at her, because he had already given orders in the stables that she was not to ride without his permission. If he had done such a thing, she knew the stablemen would obey him.

Taking a high hand, she ordered Teddy to bring Shadow Dancer out at once, and when he did so without hesitation, she paused only long enough to be certain her pistol was in its holster before accepting a leg up. Seeing that the groom had saddled a horse for himself, she said, “Are you armed, Teddy? Sir Antony is concerned about certain fractious elements in the district.”

“As well he should be, Miss Charley—that is, my lady. Some folks be getting too big fer their breeches.” He swung into the saddle.

With a quick glance at the house, Charley spurred Dancer to a gallop. Not until they reached the point where the headland road met the cliff path and the main road to Lostwithiel did she slow to let Teddy catch up.

“That was wonderful,” she said when he drew alongside. “What a glorious day!”

“It is, that,” he agreed, looking at the clear sky. The air was crisp and a light breeze stirred the trees and the long grass that flanked the roadway.

She followed the main road only until it began to curve east toward Duloe, then left it to ride cross-country, intending to meet it again before Lostwithiel. They passed a wash tin mine, finished and filled up, and several tenants’ cottages, before she heard a shout from behind and, turning in her saddle, saw Letty galloping toward them with Jeb in pursuit. Waiting for the child to catch up, Charley felt a twinge of conscience.

She did not doubt that Letty had left without permission, and she could not doubt, either, that the child had simply followed her example. Remembering her suggestion that Letty and Jeremiah feed the ducks in the horse pond, she wondered why she had not seen the child in the stable yard.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Letty shouted when she was within earshot. She was nearly breathless, but when she had closed the gap, she managed to add, “Jeremiah began throwing pebbles at the ducks, instead of toast crumbs, so I took him back inside. When I returned to the yard, they said you had gone. Why didn’t you send for me?”

A reasonable question, Charley thought. She smiled ruefully but said only, “Ride a little ahead with me, Letty darling.” To the grooms, she said, “Keep a sharp lookout, both of you. Are you armed, Jeb?”

“I am,” he said dourly.

She nodded and urged Dancer to a canter. When she and Letty had put enough distance between themselves and the grooms to be certain she would not be overheard, Charley slowed Dancer again. Aware that Letty had been watching her with open curiosity, she said bluntly, “You had better know straightaway that after you left us I quarreled with Sir Antony.”

“I was afraid you might.”

“You were, were you?”

Letty nodded. “I have observed that you do not like being told what to do. Sir Antony has not given you orders before, so when he did, I expected ructions. I daresay he did, too, so he must have strongly opposed our riding to Lostwithiel.”

“If you knew that, why did you follow me?”

Letty shrugged. “I knew you would not mind, and I want to see Jenifry again.”

The twinge of conscience this time was stronger than before. A vision of Letty’s papa leapt unbidden to Charley’s mind, and she found herself giving thanks that the Channel and a good bit of France lay between her and Gideon Deverill. The thought of having to face him as well as Sir Antony sent an icy shiver up her spine. Feeling that she ought to say something stern to the child, she found herself at a loss. Letty knew perfectly well that Sir Antony had forbidden them to go, but to scold the child for doing what she had done herself would be an act of hypocrisy, if not downright lunacy.

In a less than confident tone, she said, “I feel obliged to keep my word to Wenna and Cubert, Letty, but I daresay I should compel you to obey Sir Antony’s orders.”

“He did not give
me
any orders,” Letty said cheerfully.

The words did nothing to ease Charley’s conscience, but she did not feel up to arguing. Determined to see Jenifry, she ignored the uncomfortable sensation of prickling guilt, and fixed her thoughts on the task ahead.

In the end, their journey was wasted. Angelique was not in the shop, and when Charley informed Bess Griffin that she wanted to speak with Jenifry, Bess said nervously, “That ain’t allowed, miss. Not if it was ever so.”

“I am Lady Foxearth now,” Charley said, drawing herself up in a fair imitation of Lady Ophelia. She could see that her attitude intimidated the girl, but otherwise it availed her little.

Bess twisted her apron. “I dassn’t, my lady!”

“Nonsense, fetch her at once.”

Looking frightened, Bess said, “Wait here.” She went behind the curtain to the back of the shop, and a moment later, the curtains parted to reveal Michael Peryllys.

Angelique’s husband was a burly man who lacked his wife’s more polished manner. He said bluntly, “I’m afraid our girls don’t receive visitors, Miss Charlotte.”

“I am Lady Foxearth now, Mr. Peryllys, and I am hardly a common visitor.”

He shrugged. “I don’t set aside good rules, even for the likes of you.”

“Have a care,” she warned. “I’d advise you not to be insolent to me.”

“Would ye now?” He looked her up and down in a way that was more than insolent. “I’d advise you, miss or my lady, to take yourself away out of this shop. You’ve no call to enter it, without you’ve come to bespeak a new gown.”

“I am amazed if you think you can treat Angelique’s customers this way,” Charley said, feeling her temper rise. “I must bring her more business than most, too. She won’t like it if I take my custom elsewhere.”

“Well, you won’t be doing that,” he said confidently. “My Angelique’s the best seamstress there be hereabouts. You’ll go elsewhere only if you want second best. Now, if you’ve no business here today, I’ve work to do.”

“The worst of it,” Charley said grimly to Letty as they rode away, “is that the odious man is right. Few seamstresses in Cornwall can match Angelique for skill, and I don’t know of a single one even half so close to home.”

“What will we do about Jenifry?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”

Nothing helpful had occurred to her, however, when they saw a rider coming toward them half an hour later.

“It’s Sir Antony,” Letty said, shooting her a scared look. “Will he be very angry, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Charley said honestly. A man who could quote Shakespeare with oatmeal dripping from his nose and chin was not exactly terrifying. But neither was he predictable, and she was well aware that she had crossed the line of what most men would tolerate. She found herself peering toward the oncoming rider, hoping that for once she would be able to gauge his temperament by his expression.

As usual, she might as well have spared the effort. Although he never looked foppish on horseback, since he rode as if he had been born in the saddle, his attire was as fashionable as could be, and he affected the haughty bearing he generally assumed as Sir Antony Foxearth.

He greeted them, saying, “I trust your journey was successful, my dears.”

“We did not see Jenifry, sir,” Letty replied, watching him warily.

Noting the look, Charley said at once, “As you see, sir, I brought Letty with me, but both Teddy and Jeb are well armed, so only an army or a fool would have dared to accost us. Happily, no one did.”

“No one but Michael Peryllys,” Letty said with a grimace.

“What?” There was nothing foppish about the exclamation or the grim way he looked at Charley, and she suddenly felt very nervous. He seemed to look right through her, and his expression made her squirm.

Hastily, she said, “It was nothing, sir. The man did us no harm. He was a trifle insolent, that’s all, and he refused to let us see Jenifry. I daresay he was within his rights to do that.”

“No doubt,” The fearsome look faded as if it had not existed. Nevertheless Charley found herself glancing at him frequently, as if she were affected by a nervous tic. He seemed quite relaxed, and although they talked little as they rode on, he was perfectly civil and amiable. Even so, she had a feeling that he was acting a role.

When they rode into the stable yard and dismounted, the grooms took charge of the horses. Charley walked in silence with Letty and Sir Antony to the house, and inside the front hall, he said to the child, “Run up and change for dinner. I happen to know Mrs. Corlan is serving roast lamb tonight. It won’t do to let it cook too long.”