The Cornish Inheritance (The Cornish Ladies #3)

Chapter Sixteen

T he day of the ball came around much more quickly than Caroline expected. She kept a strict eye on Yves for the whole of this time, and he played his part by pretending to be sleepy in the mornings. Although not so sleepy as to miss out on his breakfast in the kitchen, which Caroline had taken to sharing with him. Anything was better than a couple of slices of dry toast and a cup of weak tea, with the added benefit being she could keep watch over him and what he ate. Not that she thought Mrs. Teague would slip anything into his food, but Bridget certainly might if she happened to be in the kitchen too.

She kept Hetty company every afternoon, and organized her piano practice, a little against Hetty’s will, in the music room, before taking both children, for Hetty was still very much a child in her eyes, for a daily walk down to the beach. Although she was careful to prevent the adventurous Yves from getting himself soaking wet again.

On one occasion on their way back up from the beach carrying handfuls of shells Yves and Hetty had collected, they encountered Jan Trefusis in the gardens. He appeared from behind a bush very much as though he’d been lurking there waiting for them. A bush that happened to be out of sight of any of the windows of the house.

“Ah,” he said, his Cornish accent more in evidence than it had been at dinner. “Miss Fairfield and Hetty, or should I say Henrietta, now you’re a woman grown?”

That the implication of that soubriquet was purely sexual, Caroline had no doubt. The man’s dark eyes burned with lust.

Hetty shrank against Caroline, dropping her shells as her small hand seized hold of Caroline’s.

Trefusis’s black eyes ran over Hetty’s girlish curves. “Looking pretty today with your hair all windblown.”

Yves stepped out from behind Caroline, a little turkey cock ready to fight. “Miss Treloar, to you,” he said, some of the gravitas of his statement lost in his youthful rendition of the putdown. “And I will thank you not to approach my cousin without invitation.”

Trefusis took a step closer to them all, looming larger and more threatening. “You’ll regret those words, boy. I’m the one with the power here. Not you. I can get Ruth to send you off to boarding school hundreds of miles away just like that.” He clicked his fingers. “And you wouldn’t see Cornwall or Roskilly again until you were eighteen.”

Yves stood his ground, a sight braver than his cousin. “No, sir. You will regret your words. For when I inherit Roskilly and become Sir Yves, you will be the first to go.”

Good heavens. Not a wise move, but it was too late now to stop him. This outburst spoke of a long-matured dislike of the man.

Trefusis, his face suffused with anger, raised his hand.

Caroline rose to her two charges’ defense.

“Mr. Trefusis. You cannot raise your hand to your employer’s heir, or I will have to tell him, and no doubt Sir Hugh will have you dismissed on the spot.” She took a quick breath, amazed at her own daring. “And Yves is quite correct. You should not lurk in the garden waiting to accost Miss Treloar. It is my obligation to protect both my charges, and I will do that to the best of my ability against anyone.”

Trefusis glowered at her, but now his hot eyes were running over her body as well, acquisitive and greedy. She had the unpleasant sensation he knew what she looked like naked.

Grabbing Yves’s hand and pulling Hetty with her, Caroline marched past Trefusis toward the house, heart pounding in her chest. She could only hope he wouldn’t twist this to his own advantage and report it to Mrs. Treloar, who would not look on it in the same way as Caroline did. Well, she might if she discovered how Trefusis was looking at her own daughter instead of her.

As soon as they were out of earshot of Trefusis, Hetty leaned toward Caroline. “You were so brave. I couldn’t have done that.” She put a hand on Yves’s shoulder. “And so were you.” She paused, scowling. “I hate that man. I wish he’d never come to Roskilly.”

“It was your mama who brought him here,” Yves retorted, sounding scornful, perhaps at Hetty’s lack of backbone.

“Well,” she snapped, “it wasn’t me. So don’t blame me. He’s awful. I hate the way he looks at me.” She returned her gaze to Caroline. “I wish he wasn’t coming to the ball with us. His presence will spoil it entirely for me.”

Caroline remained silent, secretly in total agreement with Hetty.

*

Between them, Hetty and Caroline, with a little reluctant help from Yves, had selected their ballgowns. “You’re going to look like one of Mrs. Teague’s iced cakes,” Yves told Hetty in disgust, “if you wear all those ribbons and things. ’Specially if you wear that bobbly shawl.”

The shawl in question could offer no real warmth, being made of finest gauze, but it did have a lot of extra “bobbly” bits attached, in pink to match Hetty’s chosen gown.

Yves had more approval for Caroline’s demure choice. “That’s better. No fiddly bits. You’ll look like a real person in this, and Hetty’s going to look like one of her soppy dolls.”

Hetty did indeed have a collection of very pretty china dolls, all done up in abundant gay finery as though they, too, were off to a ball. That some of the dolls must have been fifty or so years old didn’t help, as their gowns were wider and more elaborate than anything a self-respecting doll would wear nowadays.

“ That doll,” Yves said, pointing an ink-stained finger, “looks like she has a really fat bum.”

Caroline wagged a finger at him for this lapse. “That is not a word we like to use. Neither Hetty nor I would say it, so neither should you.”

Yves grinned. “Can I say bottom then?”

Hetty giggled.

Caroline shook her head. “A gentleman never comments on that part of a lady’s anatomy.”

“He can think it though, can’t he? And anyway, men have them too. And boys,” Yves persisted, patting his own bottom in demonstration of its location.

“If you must. But you should never comment out loud.”

On the night of the ball, Yves was confined to the nursery in the charge of Patience, as quite by chance it happened to be the awful Bridget’s night off. She had, however, left instructions for Yves to be given his dose of medicine before he went to bed.

Caroline, with Patience’s help, got into her pale blue gown and set about doing her own makeup and hair. Not easy when she’d been used to having a lady’s maid. For every day, she’d taken to just plaiting her hair and then piling it in a bun toward the back of her head, but a ball required more care and attention, and Patience was no help at all in this department.

Hetty came to the rescue. Since her recent emergence from the schoolroom, she’d been given her own lady’s maid, Abigail, a young woman promoted, to her delight, from amongst the housemaids. Caroline was sitting in front of her small mirror trying to arrange her hair for the fifth time when a light knock disturbed her and on calling out “come in,” Abigail and Hetty bustled in.

Hetty looked quite charming, as Abigail seemed to have toned down the flounciness Yves had pointed out. However, she still wore the pale pink dress she and Caroline had chosen, although with a different, diaphanous shawl, devoid of Yves’s “bobbly bits.” Her glorious auburn hair had mostly been piled up on her head, but stray curls, artfully arranged, spilled over the alabaster skin of her slender shoulders.

“Abigail will do your hair for you,” she exclaimed with evident satisfaction. “Sit back down, and let her work her magic.”

And it was magic. In a very short space of time, Caroline’s hair looked nearly as nice as her young charge’s. Delighted, Hetty planted a kiss on each of Caroline’s cheeks. “You look so pretty. No one would know you for a governess and old maid.”

Although this was meant to be flattering, Caroline wasn’t sure she liked being thought of as an old maid. Not even by guileless Hetty. Although, when she’d been seventeen herself, she’d more than likely thought women ten years older to have been distinctly over the hill and on the shelf. She could hardly blame Hetty for thinking the same.

Yves came bounding out of the nursery in his night shirt with Patience in hot pursuit. “By gosh, Hetty, you look like a lady!”

Hetty beamed, despite the implication that she didn’t normally look like a lady. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

Patience caught his hand. “He is that, Miss Hetty. Come on you, or I’ll tell Bridget you was naughty.”

“Not Bridget,” Yves gasped, and stopped pulling away from her. “I only wanted to see Hetty and Caroline in their ball clothes.” He looked at Caroline. “You look really pretty, too. Not like a governess at all.”

“For an old maid,” Caroline said, and grinned at Hetty. “Goodnight, Yves. Do not be awake when we return or I might tell Bridget, even if Patience doesn’t. Off to bed with you, right now.”

He scuttled off to bed, Patience in hot pursuit, and Caroline and Hetty headed downstairs, Caroline’s heart thudding painfully for a number of reasons. Outside the drawing room door, she reached out and took Hetty’s hand. “Courage. He can’t do anything to you.”

Not needing to be told whom Caroline was referring to, Hetty shot her a grateful smile, her fingers tightening around Caroline’s. Then she pushed the door open and they stepped inside.

Mrs. Treloar, wearing a maroon satin gown, was seated on the chaise longue. Trefusis stood beside the fireplace, striking a negligent pose as he seemed wont to do, which meant his face was hidden from his benefactress. Taking advantage of this, he let his eyes run shamelessly over both Hetty’s and Caroline’s bodies as they came in, and Hetty edged closer to her protectress.

Nat, on the other hand, stood by the window, gazing out of it, as though nothing inside the room was of any interest to him. Both men were dressed very smartly in silk breeches and stockings and immaculately cut tailcoats. But there the similarity ended. Nat was the epitome of understated elegance and refinement, despite, or perhaps because of, his eleven years as a soldier. There was nothing of the dandy about him, and his collar points were low and his cravat unostentatious. He looked what he was, the scion of a family of country gentry and an ex-soldier. Trefusis, however, shouted ostentation from every item of his clothing—from the ridiculously high starched points of his collar, through his fancy waistcoat and patterned breeches to his buckled shoes. This was a farmer’s son done up how he fancied a lord should look.

After a long moment, Trefusis bestowed a bow on Caroline and Hetty, that look in his eyes making her glad she’d added a pretty lace fichu to conceal her decolletage, for that was where his eyes were looking. Hetty drew her shawl closer about her shoulders.

Nat turned from the window and made a rather stiff bow, and Hetty returned an exaggerated curtsey. Caroline’s was more measured.

“Now we are all here,” Mrs. Treloar said, her voice laden with disapproval, no doubt at being forced to go out with a governess in her party, “perhaps we can ask Old Pascoe to bring round the carriage.” Her tone said what her words didn’t—that Hetty, and more specifically Caroline, had made them all wait.

Only five minutes later, for Old Pascoe must have had the carriage ready and waiting in the stableyard, they stepped out onto the graveled driveway and Young Pascoe, who was to ride as groom on the back, let down the carriage steps. Ennion held out a hand to help Mrs. Treloar and Hetty in, then Caroline, to take the rear-facing sea and after them the two men got in to sit opposite. Young Pascoe folded up the step and closed the door, the carriage creaked as he mounted up behind, and his father clicked to his horses to set the carriage rumbling down the drive.

As Caroline had never been down to Cornwall to visit Ysella at Carlyon, she had no idea how far away it lay, nor how long it would take to get there. However, she soon recognized the road as the bumpy one she and Yves had taken to Penzance. Pulled by four strong bays, the carriage fairly rattled along, but nevertheless it couldn’t go flat out, due to the ruts and the odd dangerous hole that could lead to a broken axle.

It must have been two hours—two silent hours as no one in the carriage spoke much aside from Mrs. Treloar’s detailed and several times repeated instructions for Hetty and Caroline—before they rumbled down a tree-overhung lane and through a pair of wrought-iron gates. It seemed Ysella and Mr. Beauchamp lived in an even more far-flung corner of Cornwall than the Treloars.

Old Pascoe drew the carriage up in front of a house that looked as though it had shrugged itself as close to the ground as it could get against the prevailing sea winds, clinging with the determination of the limpets Yves had shown Caroline on the rocks on the beach. Tall brick chimneys rose from a darkly slated roof which overhung the small upper windows as though much in need of the equivalent of a haircut.

Young Pascoe jumped off the back of the carriage and hurried to let down the step. Evening was drawing in and a cool sea wind blew, making Caroline draw her own shawl closer about her shoulders as she emerged. Other carriages were stationed everywhere, so Ysella and Sam must have invited a lot of people to this ball. How good it would be to see her friend again.

The party went inside, Mrs. Treloar and Trefusis leading the way, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm as though he were her escort for the night and she wanted everyone to know he was her property.

The house was as squat inside as out, being much more like the ancient Cadley Grange than Roskilly. Dark wainscotting everywhere, and old furniture just like that of her parents. Immediately, Caroline felt more at home here than she did at Roskilly.

Ysella and Sam were greeting their guests.

Mrs. Treloar approached them first, with Trefusis, who seemed to be brimming with confidence at his inclusion in the party. Caroline watched the bows and curtseys, noting the discontented expression on Mrs. Treloar’s face, and the appreciative one on Trefusis as he took in the young Mrs. Beauchamp.

Ysella had always been a pretty girl, but now, as a woman, she’d blossomed into a beauty. Small and dark, delicate as a fawn, she still possessed that ability to charm, despite her previous experiences.

She spotted Caroline. “Caro! You came! I was not sure you would.” She bestowed a radiant smile, and a confiding hand, upon sour Mrs. Treloar. “Thank you so much for bringing my dear friend to see me. You have no idea how much this means.”

Mrs. Treloar was forced to return the smile, which must have pained her. “As it is thanks to you we have her as governess for my nephew, and you invited her, how could we not bring her with us?”

Caroline couldn’t help but smile. The meaning behind these words would be wasted, as it would sail straight over Ysella’s head.

Ysella seized Caroline’s hands. “I have so missed you! And I have so much to tell you.” She laid a hand across the hint of a rise in her stomach. “Not least this.”

“Another child?” Caroline squeezed her hands. “I’m so happy for you. Your nursery will be quite full!”

Ysella pulled Caroline toward her and kissed her cheeks. “Sam is hoping for a boy this time,” she whispered in her ear, then raised her voice again. “And who is this?”

Hetty, a little shy in front of all this friendship, blushed.

“This is Miss Henrietta Treloar, for whom I act as companion. Of course, my other charge is asleep in his nursery tonight, being too young, to his relief, to attend balls.” A tiny nudge of worry nagged at her, that she’d abandoned Yves all on his own and unprotected. But at least Bridget wasn’t there.

“We will talk later,” Ysella said. “I must welcome our other guests, I fear.”

Sam shook hands with Nat. “Glad to see you’ve chosen to accompany your ladies.”

And they progressed into what seemed to be the main ballroom, although it wasn’t large, and further rooms stretched beyond it. A good few couples were already dancing, and around the perimeter of the room others stood talking, watching the newcomers as they arrived, the ladies fanning themselves in the rather stuffy warmth, the gentlemen, even the old married ones, eyeing up the young women on display.

Caroline glanced at Nat. There was nowhere here he could turn his face to in order to hide his scars. But he seemed oblivious to the attention he was receiving, as though he’d determined to brave it out. Her heart momentarily went out to him, as he headed off toward the card room, before she remembered that it would be he who would benefit if something happened to Yves. She mustn’t allow herself to feel any sympathy for him. He was probably as coldhearted as his mother.

A handsome, but quite short, young gentleman approached. His hairstyle, which seemed set to defy gravity, had been teased up into many artful curls to add to his height. It bore some semblance to the Grecian style young men about Town affected nowadays, but something more than goodwill must be maintaining its buoyancy.

He made a smart bow to Mrs. Treloar and then to Hetty and Caroline. “William Pendennis, at your service.”

Introductions were made all round, as it seemed the Treloars knew his family well, and he procured himself a dance with Hetty and escorted her onto the dance floor.

Trefusis, ignoring the dancing, headed for the refreshment room with Mrs. Treloar gripping his arm in what looked to be a vice, leaving Caroline to keep a weather eye on Hetty. She stood for a few minutes enjoying the music, one foot tapping along, the colorful whirl of dancers and the heady mingled scents of men and women alike.

“Do tell me how you are getting along in your new position.” Ysella’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Now your employer has absented herself.”

She turned around. Ysella, a possessive hand resting on the imperceptible rise of her stomach, stood beside her. Caroline would never have known her condition if Ysella hadn’t revealed it.

“I’ve abandoned poor Sam to greet our guests. I had to find you as it feels like so long since you and I last saw one another. Tell me everything.”

“Well,” Caroline said with a smile, “Hetty is a lovely girl who reminds me somewhat of you. A little headstrong, a lot vivacious and lively.” She paused. “Quite unlike her mother.”

“And the child? Is he biddable? When I talked with Mrs. Treloar, she told me he is sickly and a little backward. I felt the implication was that he isn’t expected to live.” She shivered. “As a mother now, that is a sentiment I would dread, although she didn’t at all seem upset by it. Although I suppose he isn’t her child.”

Caroline shook her head with some asperity. “Not at all sickly. He’s as robust as any boy his age. As robust as Kit himself was as a child. I keep hearing it said that he’s sickly, and yet there’s nothing at all wrong with him. I find it very odd that this is said of him.”

Ysella’s eyes widened. “I suppose no child is entirely safe, is he? With sickness all around that can strike a little one down so easily. I worry for my daughter all the time.”

Caroline shrugged. Best not to confide in Ysella any of her concerns about Yves. Not yet, anyway. After all, she had very little evidence to prove anything and was going on what could be construed as merely an educated guess, or a hunch. “He’s a charming, quick-witted boy, who likes all the normal things boys like. And he’s good at his studies as well. Not in the least bit backward. A bright child who’s a pleasure to teach. I’m enjoying my employment as his governess. So far.” Although this wasn’t strictly true. But she didn’t want Ysella to know, at least, not like this, in public.

“Come,” Ysella said. “Shall we get ourselves a glass of lemonade?”

Caroline shook her head. “No. I’m afraid I can’t, as it’s my job to watch Hetty and make sure she doesn’t do anything untoward.” She smiled. “You know very well what mistakes young ladies make where dashing young gentlemen are concerned.”

Ysella had the grace to blush, as she’d made a mistake like that herself and paid dearly for it.

“Then I shall fetch you a glass myself,” she said, and spun away into the throng.

Caroline went back to watching Hetty, who seemed to be having a wonderful time with young William Pendennis. Her enchantingly flushed face was wreathed in smiles every time the dance brought them back together, and young William seemed very taken with her. His shortness didn’t seem to have put her off any.

However, over on the other side of the ballroom, Mrs. Treloar and Trefusis had returned from searching out their refreshments and were part of a small group chatting together. And Trefusis had his acquisitive gaze on Hetty as she twirled about the dance floor. Now Caroline had two people to keep safe.