The bride insists, p.10
The Bride Insists, page 10
Jamie had forgotten that the next day was Sunday. His heart sank. He reached for his wineglass and drank.
“We don’t go to church,” said Tamsyn.
“You have to wear dresses,” agreed Tegan.
“And sit still for ages,” added her sister.
“And be quiet.”
“Everyone stares so,” said Tegan.
“And says ‘you poor little things.’”
“As if we were infants.”
Both twins glared at Clare as if this were somehow her fault.
“We will all attend church,” Clare stated. She had always done so, and she was shocked to find that the girls had not, especially after learning they had lessons with the vicar.
The twins’ heads swiveled to their brother, clearly expecting him to object.
Jamie nodded heavily. As a landowner and the head of his family, he must take his place in their traditional pew. But he would have liked a little more time before he faced all the neighbors. It suddenly occurred to him that one usually received a round of calls on the occasion of marriage. The neighborhood must know of the wedding. But no one had called at Trehearth; no one had acknowledged him or his new wife.
He’d never made himself part of local society. He was barely acquainted with his neighbors. It had always been too humiliating to mingle with them as his estate fell in ruin. Wary of their pity and disapproval, he’d turned to his London friends for society and solace. That must change now, but he dreaded it. The twins were right; people would stare. In fact, they would gape—surreptitiously. The whole service would be like being onstage. He poured a third glass of wine. At least his grandfather’s cellar had survived the wreck of their fortunes. It still contained ranked bottles of quite decent vintages.
“We won’t go,” said Tegan.
“You can’t make us,” said Tamsyn.
Was this where Clare “handled” his sisters? Jamie wondered. Or was it just another occasion when he shouted himself hoarse with absolutely no effect?
Clare looked at Selina; she had discussed this with her beforehand, and Selina had agreed to help. “Well…” said Selina, drawing out the word.
“If you don’t mind people whispering about you behind their hands,” added Clare in the same dubious tone.
“What?” Tamsyn frowned at her.
“If they don’t appear with the family at church, everyone will assume there’s something to hide.” Selina spoke directly to Clare, leaving the twins out of it.
“I would find it uncomfortable myself,” Clare allowed.
“Everybody knows us,” said Tegan.
Clare nodded. “They see you walking in the countryside.”
“In your unsuitable clothing,” remarked Selina. Clare gave her a cautionary glance.
“Wandering like tinkers,” said Tamsyn, defiance and a hint of uncertainty in her tone.
“Appearances are so capable of misinterpretation,” Selina said, speaking only to Clare again.
“Yes, when you’re not really acquainted with a person…” Clare let her voice trail off.
What were they up to? Jamie wondered.
“We don’t want to be acquainted,” declared Tegan.
Clare nodded again, as if her defiant stance was quite reasonable. “Social obligations can be wearisome, but if you are never met or spoken to…”
Selina looked grave. “People will make up reasons for their absence,” she said to Clare.
“They tend to do so, and very odd ones seem to be preferred.”
Tamsyn scowled. “We don’t care what they…”
“If they can’t be seen in public, now that the family is officially in residence…” began Selina.
Clare pursed her lips. “Then perhaps they are… unfit for society.”
“Uncouth,” said Selina.
“What is un…?”
“Or even mad,” the older woman continued.
“We are not!”
Clare shook her head at the vagaries of society. “Or… malformed somehow.”
“Mal…?”
“And that their brother is ashamed to be seen with them,” Selina finished.
Jamie sat up straighter at this one. “I am not,” he responded. And then wondered if he had been supposed to say something different, to follow what was obviously a prepared script. But he wouldn’t pretend to be ashamed of his sisters. Driven distracted, yes, absolutely; but not ashamed.
“Of course not,” Clare agreed. “But once one becomes the subject of gossip, it spreads like wildfire.”
“The most idiotic tales are believed,” said Selina. “I’ve seen it so often. I think, as you said, Clare, that people prefer the more outlandish stories.”
“And then it’s nearly impossible to be rid of them,” agreed Clare. “They’ll be told and re-told for years, even when they’ve been proven false and—”
“All right, we’ll go!” cried Tamsyn. She and her twin exchanged a heated glance. Clare was certain the girls could communicate a wealth of information without a word.
“Just to stop you from talking and talking,” conceded Tegan.
“But we really don’t care what anyone thinks!” Tamsyn’s hard stare made it clear that this sentiment was aimed at Clare.
The girls rose from the table and stood side by side in solidarity. Clare merely smiled at them and turned away. “Shall we all walk to church then? Do we have a carriage?”
“An ancient one,” Jamie replied. He avoided his sisters’ smoldering gazes. “And no proper team to pull it just now.”
“A lovely brisk walk then. We can meet in the hall.”
“Nine thirty perhaps?” said Selina.
“I think that would be ample time.” Clare rose as well. “I had a sofa and some chairs moved into the solar. Shall we retire there this evening?”
Selina stood. “That sounds pleasant.”
The two women went out, leaving Jamie alone with the glowering twins. He shifted uneasily in his chair. So much of the time they’d spent together had involved wrangling. Should he congratulate them on their cooperation? No, definitely a mistake.
“We’re not stupid,” said Tegan.
“We know we’re doing what she wanted,” affirmed her sister.
“It’s just that Anna’s niece told Alys Mason that we’re daft.” Tegan’s lower lip trembled very slightly. Or, no, he’d imagined it, Jamie thought. That wasn’t possible. Not Tegan.
“So we will go to church this once.”
“And show them that we are not!”
“But that is all!”
Turning in unison, they marched out of the dining room—shoulders square, their small forms almost birdlike in their ridiculous shirts and breeches. A tremor of unease went through Jamie. It made his throat tighten, though he couldn’t pinpoint the cause. He refilled his wineglass, emptying the bottle, although no one else had drunk any. Sipping, he sat alone in his newly scrubbed dining room, savoring the taste of the vintage.
His wife and her companion sat in the solar. His sisters were closed in their room, undoubtedly accompanied by Randolph. He’d seen no sign of the dog in the stables. Jamie didn’t feel as if he belonged in either place. He sipped again, and was reminded of other nights in this room, when he’d slumped over a second, or a third, bottle and tried to blot out the certainty of a bleak future. He’d averted disaster. And he did feel triumphant. Truly, he did. Old Jenkins had been full of praise for his renovation plans.
He was just tired this evening, his mind overwhelmed by myriad tasks, his body by days in the saddle. Jamie’s eyelids drooped, and he nodded over his glass. His head bowed, then jerked up. Once, and again. He finished his wine, stood unsteadily, and made his way out into the great hall. He should go and speak to Clare about… what was it? He couldn’t remember.
His toe caught on an uneven floorboard, and Jamie tripped, barely avoiding a fall. He wasn’t in the best condition to converse, he realized. As Harry and Andrew always said, when you’re three sheets to the wind better head for a safe harbor. He’d lie down for a little while, recover his wits. Jamie turned toward the stairs and stumbled up them. In his room, he pulled off his boots and lay on the mattress fully clothed, falling headlong into sleep.
Later that evening, as Clare brushed her hair, her mind drifted irresistibly to last night. The memories were so vivid and enticing. She listened for sounds from the adjoining chamber and heard nothing. Their encounter seemed almost like a dream, or something from a different epoch, as if there were two layers to reality. She and Jamie hurried from task to task, and had disagreed a bit sharply, in a busy sunlit world. They’d caressed and exulted in a dim, sensuous realm. Tonight, the latter lay quiescent, apparently out of reach. She climbed into bed alone.
Nine
The Trehearth party set off for church not too much after nine thirty. Randolph had been the cause of a short delay, when it was discovered that he had chewed up Tegan’s best dress—most likely because she’d spilled gravy down the bodice, and then crumpled it into a ball so that no one would notice and stuffed it into the bottom of her wardrobe. Another was found, even more ill-fitting than the ones Clare had already seen, and she briefly wondered whether to leave the girls behind after all. At their age, she would have been mortified to be seen in such dowdy dresses. They seemed oblivious to fashion, however, and she let it go. Their cloaks covered the worst of it. But she would have to provide the twins with a new wardrobe, which would undoubtedly be a process fraught with difficulties.
The Pendennises walked with the other household members down the path that branched from the drive and wound down the cliffs to the village in the cove. The March day was chilly but not bitter. Clare had noticed that the winter temperatures in this westerly part of the country varied little between day and night. The climate was milder than London.
Jamie had an aching head and a severe shortage of patience. He should have left some wine in that bottle, he thought, or skipped the brandy beforehand. He’d nearly downed a dose of the latter as he dressed. He’d resisted the impulse, though, substituting liberal applications of cold water to snap himself awake. His mirror told him that he was pale, with some red in his eyes that wouldn’t be missed by sharp-eyed village gossips. He wasn’t in the best state to be put on display to the entire neighborhood.
He ran his gaze over the rest of his party, trying to see them as strangers would. The Pendennises were as forthright and solid as ever; he knew they were respected in the village—and deservedly so. Clare looked slim and elegant, her pale hair stirred by the morning breeze. Her bonnet and cloak might be drab, but the beauty of her face and grace of her carriage more than made up for it. He’d be proud to have her on his arm. Mrs. Newton was equally respectable, if not as lovely and alluring as his wife. As for his sisters… Jamie sighed. Somehow, when dressed as young ladies, Tamsyn and Tegan always managed to look like wild creatures, captured and stuffed into alien garments that chafed at them and hampered their natural grace. He supposed that they’d brushed their hair. They must have. Yet the strands had reverted to wild black tangles; they always did, as if they possessed a life of their own. And their set expressions—martyrs being marched to the stake—didn’t improve the picture.
“It’s a fine church,” said Clare. She and Selina hadn’t ventured inside the previous day. “It looks quite old.”
Jamie gathered his wits to respond and to smile, suddenly conscious that they were undoubtedly under observation now that they’d entered the village. “The tower was built in the fifteenth century. It’s been used for beacon fires since Tudor times. The rest of the building is a bit later. Made of local stone.” They passed under the archway, through the vestibule, and into the church proper. Jamie was aware of heads turning and eyes following as they walked to the pew at the front, set aside for the Trehearth family. He’d never liked sitting there. Everyone could watch them, and they could see no one but the vicar.
Clare enjoyed the service. Reverend Carew’s sermon was both thoughtful and accessible. The choir boasted some exceptional voices, which rang through the old stone arches under the domed ceiling and seemed to rise on shafts of jeweled light from the stained glass. She would like worshiping here, she decided. Meeting Selina’s eyes across the smaller frames of the twins, she saw less approval in the older woman’s gaze.
The Trehearth party was among the last parishioners to file out after the service. The vicar stood just outside the door, offering everyone a word. “Edward Carew,” he said to Jamie when they emerged. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Lord Trehearth.”
Jamie shook his hand. “May I present my wife, and her friend Mrs. Newton?”
“I’ve had that pleasure already,” he replied, to Jamie’s surprise. “Hello, Tamsyn, Tegan,” he added.
The twins turned from their observation of the lingering crowd, dropped small curtsies, and smiled up at the older man. Jamie had to clench his jaw to keep it from dropping. “I finished that book about the hinges,” said Tegan.
“Henges,” Tamsyn corrected.
Her sister shrugged. “It was very good.”
The pastor smiled down at them. His blue eyes were full of kindness for his pupils, Clare thought. The twins could not have happened upon a better mentor for pursuing their local interests. “I’ve just received another volume from London,” he said. “I’ll show it to you when you have the time.”
“We could look now,” Tegan began.
The bright curiosity in her face was a very good sign, Clare noted. Whatever these girls’ rebellious antics, they clearly loved to learn. And she firmly believed that a child who loved to learn—loved rather than saw it an advantage or curried favor by it—was sound at heart.
“Unfortunately, I am occupied at the moment,” said the vicar with twinkling eyes. He indicated the still busy churchyard and watched his sometime pupils subside into self-consciousness. Reverend Carew fervently hoped that the arrival of ladies at Trehearth would be the social salvation of Tamsyn and Tegan Boleigh. He was fond of the prickly children and, in fact, rather admired them. They’d faced a difficult lot in life with resolution and zest. If they occasionally misbehaved, he found it understandable. He also thought that their waywardness could be mended. Not easily, perhaps. But he’d seen what a bit of kindness and interest could accomplish. Turning, the vicar encountered Lady Trehearth’s quite extraordinary green eyes, and he had the odd feeling that she’d followed his thoughts and agreed with them.
Feeling another gaze on him, he shifted his attention to the hazel eyes of her friend. There he found challenge and reserve, yet also some other element that drew him in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. It was unsettling and quite an effort to pull his attention back to his duties. But he’d formed a plan for this post-service interlude. “Would you allow me to present some of your neighbors?” he asked Lord Trehearth. “I know you’ve been in London a great deal and may not have met them all.”
The village would know practically everything about them, Clare realized. Country neighborhoods were rife with gossip. They needed to find their place within this one.
As the vicar shepherded them gently toward a knot of people near the churchyard gate, Jamie felt both stiff and grateful. The man must have heard his whole history. No doubt his neighbors had been all too eager to retail it—at least as they saw it. So Reverend Carew must be well aware that Jamie was a near stranger here, despite his family’s long residence. Some of his neighbors he hadn’t seen since before his father’s death. He hadn’t had the temerity to call when he was in his teens, and no heart for it after that, while the estate teetered on the verge of bankruptcy.
“Of course you know Sir Harold and Lady Halcombe,” continued Reverend Carew smoothly.
Jamie vaguely remembered the older couple. Their land was a few miles west. His parents had visited them, and vice versa. He thought he’d met their sons—several years older than he and not much interested in a “squirt” of his vintage. But he bowed and agreed. “Of course.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Palgrove recently moved into the manor at Vanyl,” the vicar continued.
“Teddy,” said a blond young man. “My wife, Marianne.”
The pretty young woman beside him smiled and started to speak. Then her blue eyes shifted. “Arthur! Leave those flowers alone. Come here.” A small blond boy snatched his hand away from the spray of blooms decorating the church door and ran over to join them. Only then did Jamie notice a little girl hiding behind Marianne Palgrove’s skirts.
“And Mr. and Mrs. Fox from Damson House,” the vicar finished.
“Graham,” supplied the middle-aged gentleman who was the last in the group. “My wife, Elizabeth.”
Jamie introduced Clare, Selina Newton, and his sisters. The twins curtsied again, to his renewed astonishment. “Knew your parents well,” said Sir Harold. Stocky and square-jawed, he was the picture of a ruddy English landowner.
“Indeed, your mother was a dear friend of mine,” added his wife.
Jamie didn’t know whether this was meant as an assurance of regard or a reproach for dropping the connection.
Clare looked down as the small Palgroves gazed up. “Hello.”
“This is Margaret and Arthur,” said their mother. “We left baby Sidney at home because he will cry during the sermon.”
“Might have a budding dissenter on your hands, vicar,” joked her husband.
Reverend Carew merely smiled. The group chatted for a few minutes, exchanging news of the neighborhood and promises to call. “How’s that dratted dog?” Mr. Fox asked the twins as the conversation was breaking up.
“Very well, thank you,” replied Tamsyn.
“Happy not to be drowned,” Tegan muttered.
