Chapter 19

The Grenvilles lived but a few miles to the southwest, where their farmland adjoined the Roscarrocks'. It had been thus for centuries, my father-in-law explained as we rode past fields now lying dormant after the recent harvest. The crops grown had changed, as had the acreage devoted to livestock, but not the boundaries or the surnames of the owners. But this didn't mean that the two families were equals. The Roscarrocks' estate had always been larger, and its portion of coast longer. And they had never let the Grenvilles forget it.

Yet there was one thing in which it was clear the Grenvilles had surpassed the Roscarrocks, and that was offspring bearing the Grenville name. At almost every cottage we passed once we'd entered Grenville land, someone lifted a hand in greeting as Lord Gage explained either who they were or whom they were likely the descendants of. In nearly every instance, the surname was Grenville. Perhaps if Branok's brother hadn't elected to immigrate, the discrepancy would not have been so great, but as it was, the difference could not be denied. Especially now that Mery was the only true Roscarrock left. In a country which valued the continuation of the male line almost above all else, this was no small distinction.

We carried on past the drive which led to the main house where Tamsyn lived with her brother Gil, instead veering down a narrower track which led to a cozy little cottage overlooking the cliffs and the sea beyond. As we drew nearer, Lord Gage grew silent, which only accentuated how much he'd been chattering before. If anything, my father-in-law's conversation was known for its sparsity and bluntness, not its loquaciousness. This, more than his stiff posture or stilted demeanor, revealed exactly how nervous he was about facing his friend Jago's mother after so many decades of avoiding her.

Despite November's chill, a small garden bursting with pink, yellow, and white blooms surrounded the cottage. Some of them were not native to England's shores, and their unusual blossoms and leaves livened up what would otherwise have been another drab stone house. Someone who lived here evidently loved horticulture.

We began to dismount from our steeds as the door opened and a woman about Gage's age with sandy brown hair appeared in the doorway. She smiled in welcome, her hands clasped before her, as we secured our horses' reins to the fencepost nearby lest they decide the exotic blooms looked like tasty treats.

"Ye must be Lord Gage," she murmured softly to my father-in-law before ushering us inside. "And Mr. and Mrs. Gage. Welcome to our home. I'm Pasca's granddaughter."

"Lily, is that our guests I hear ye speakin' to," a voice called from the next room. "Well, quit dawdlin' and bring them through."

"Yes, Gran!" Lily called back. Her eyes twinkled. "As ye can hear, she's impatient to see ye."

Given the ease and good humor Lily displayed, I decided that must mean Tamsyn had spoken true. That Pasca didn't blame my father-in-law for the death of her son. But a glance at Lord Gage showed that he was still apprehensive about this meeting. It wasn't easy to face the most painful memories of your past, and being forced to confront those people who had been part of it, even along the periphery, had a curious way of making you feel it all the more deeply. I knew this from experience.

Lily led us into a parlor at the back of the cottage. It wasn't grand by any means, not compared to the drawing room at Roscarrock House and certainly not the one at Bevington Park—Lord Gage's Warwickshire estate—but the view from its windows surpassed both. They perfectly framed an idyllic slice of coast with its green rolling hills, golden sand, deep cerulean water, and brilliant blue sky.

So arresting was the vantage that for a moment the woman seated before it was all but lost to my notice. But then she wasn't paying me the least bit of mind. Not when she had the fifty-nine-year-old visage of her long-lost son's friend and a younger version of those same features to gaze at.

Given my father-in-law's age and the fact Jago had been of comparable maturity, Pasca must have been nearing four score years of life. The lines and grooves of her face showed this, as did the gray hair neatly restrained at the back of her head. She sat very composed on a horsehair settee with her hands resting in her lap. Their joints were swollen, suggesting arthritis, but if she was in pain, she didn't show it.

However, her most striking feature was her eyes. Not only were they clear, exhibiting none of the cloudiness older people sometimes suffered from, but also a brilliant shade of almost turquoise, such as I'd never seen before. Gage's eyes were pale blue, but their color was that of a winter sky the morning after a snowstorm, and almost crystalline in quality. Pasca's eyes were at once more vivid in hue and more mellow in aspect. Soothing rather than piercing. My fingers itched to capture them and her entire face on canvas, wondering what mixture of pigments would accurately replicate the color.

Turning from Pasca, I realized that Lord Gage had come to a stop in the middle of the room, almost as if his legs would carry him no farther. His gaze remained fixed on Pasca, his expression lost and uncertain, offering us a glimpse of the boy he'd once been. The one who had been hurt, ashamed, frightened, and grieving the loss of his dearest friend.

I began to go to him, unable to bear him standing there alone, staring down his bleak past. But then Pasca patted the seat next to hers, and like a child compelled, Lord Gage strode woodenly forward to do as he was told. Gage and I sat in the two cane-back chairs across from them as they studied each other, each of them swimming in their memories. We might not have even been there for all the notice that they paid us.

Eventually, Lord Gage gathered his tattered composure. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Grenville."

Pasca's mouth curled into a sad smile, her eyes glittering with tears. "Ah, Stephen." She rested her hand on his. "I'm glad you've finally come."

He seemed slightly abashed by this remark, though I didn't think she had meant it in scolding. "I thought it would be easier for you not to see me."

She shook her head. "?'Twasn't your fault. I knew that. Just as I knew 'ow much it hurt ye to lose Jago." She exhaled in mild reproof. "And then they sent ye away, so ye had no one to grieve with. No one who truly knew him anyway." She patted his hand. "I'm sorry for that."

Lord Gage's throat worked as he swallowed. "It was only right that I should go when I had lived and Jago had not," he murmured in a voice of such desolation that it plucked the heart from my chest.

"Is that what ye think?" Pasca asked. "Nay, Stephen. 'Tisn't true." Her face crumpled. "And had I known that's what ye were thinkin' for even a second in all these years, I woulda walked all the way to Plymouth or London or wherever ye were myself to tell ye. Woulda forced my way onto one of your navy ships, too." She nodded in emphasis.

A hint of humor lurked in Lord Gage's voice though his face betrayed nothing. "I would like to have seen that."

"Woulda made it, too." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Or don't ye know where Jago got his impishness?"

Mirth pulled briefly at his lips, and Pasca smiled, revealing gaps where some of her teeth should have been, but it slowly faded. "Ye were both failed by men who should've known better. Sendin' boys out to do their dirty work." She scoffed derisively. "And then standin' back to watch as ye were forced to pay for their crimes." Lowering her gaze to her lap, she smoothed her hands over the faded chintz of her skirt, collecting herself before she spoke again. "Though, to be fair, I know yer granfer did what he could for ye."

The manner in which Lord Gage's face constricted made it clear that he didn't believe this, but Pasca didn't see it.

"And he never shied away from the facts of what 'appened to Jago. He would look in on me almost as much as my own kin and speak to me of my son. And you." She looked up at him then. "He would tell me where ye were and what ye were doin'. He was always quite proud of ye."

To Pasca, Lord Gage must have appeared untroubled by these revelations for she said nothing further, but I could see the consternation flickering in his eyes.

She patted his hand again. "Now, introduce me to your family."

Lily seemed to take this as her cue to bring in the tea tray and begin pouring for everyone.

"I presume this is your son," Pasca said, turning to Gage. She cackled. "Gil was right. Ethan Kellynack never woulda had a chance with Tamsyn had ye been around. But then your fine boy wouldn't be here, would he?" Pasca continued with a sorrowful shake of her head. "Tamsyn was never able to have children, ye see. The poor girl." Her face softened as she looked at Gage. "I suspect your wife must've been a good woman. And beautiful."

"Yes," Lord Gage confirmed, his eyes locking with his son's. "A very good woman."

I felt a lump form in my throat at the mutual regard the two men shared and the underlying truth such a simple statement made. Their contentious past only made it more poignant.

"And this, then, is your daughter-in-law," Pasca guessed, her kindly gaze revealing nothing of her knowledge or lack thereof of my reputation. "But I also hear ye have a granddaughter." The quirk of her mouth suggested she already knew how smitten Lord Gage was with Emma. Or perhaps it was the affection all grandparents shared for their grandchildren.

Either way, they spent much of the remainder of our time with Pasca discussing their offspring, both grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Lord Gage even mentioned his other son Henry, though for good reason he didn't go into great detail about his antecedents. When they broached the subject of Jago again, it was less fraught, and they were able to share memories and even a few laughs over various things he'd done or said. Each retelling revealed a different side of my father-in-law that neither I nor Gage had ever seen. It was enlightening, reassuring, and also somehow heartbreaking to know that he had once been just another energetic, mischievous boy. One eager to please and belong, anxious to find his place. It broke my heart anew to realize how his life here had ended.

While his time with Pasca was healing, I could tell that it had also dredged some terrible things to the surface, namely his consciousness of all he'd lost. It was etched in the deepening lines of his face as we rode back to Roscarrock. As such, I wasn't surprised when he excused himself upon our arrival and set off in the direction of the cliffs. Clearly, he had much to reconcile with.

At first, this didn't concern me greatly, my thoughts being consumed with Emma. But once her belly was filled and I was seated on the floor, playing with her, a sudden wave of anxiety washed over me. I brushed it aside, focusing on my daughter and her giggles as I made her ragdoll dance. However, the worry returned and intensified when Lord Gage did not appear for dinner.

We waited a quarter of an hour for him to appear, but when it was discovered that he wasn't even in the house, Amelia ordered that the dishes be brought to the table. By this point, my appetite had all but deserted me, and I more or less picked at my food as the meal lingered and the shadows deepened toward twilight. Gage's inclination to eat wasn't much stronger, nor his interest in the conversation other than whether anyone had seen his father after he strode away from the stables upon our return from Auntie Pasca's cottage.

When the last course of nuts and cheeses was set before us, Gage pushed back from the table. "I'm going to search for him."

"I'll help," Tristram offered immediately.

"Aye," Bevil grunted in agreement, swiping his napkin over his mouth before rising.

"You'll wait here?" He leaned down to ask me.

I nodded, grasping his hand as he turned to leave. "Be careful."

He squeezed my fingers in reassurance before following Bevil and Tristram from the room. In short order, we heard one of the outer doors open and shut as they set off into the night.

I turned back to the table to find all three women watching me.

Dolly offered me an encouraging smile. "They'll find 'im."

"I'm sure they will," Joan contributed. "Wasn't his leg injured some months back? Perhaps it merely gave out from all his exertions."

"Yes, I suspect you're right," I said.

But Amelia seemed less convinced. Her gaze shifted toward the windows where the drapes had yet to be drawn against the encroaching night. Wisps of gray hair fluttered along her hairline in a stray draft. I was about to ask her what she was thinking when someone in the doorway spoke.

"M'lady."

Such was my distraction that it took me a moment to realize the maid was speaking to me. "Yes?"

The girl flushed under my regard. "Mrs. Mackay is askin' for ye?"

"Thank you," I said, pushing stiffly to my feet. "Please excuse me," I told the Killigrew women and hastened up to Emma's nursery.

However, alarmingly, Mrs. Mackay was waiting for me outside the door without my daughter. She held up her hands as if to halt my flow of words before they began. "Emma is restin' peacefully," she assured me. "I didna mean to alarm ye." She nodded toward the door to my bedchamber, which opened. "?'Tis Miss McEvoy who asked me to send for ye."

I pressed a hand to my rib cage, exhaling in relief as the bedchamber door opened to reveal Bree waiting for me. "What is it?" I asked her.

She ushered me inside and Mrs. Mackay nodded stalwartly before returning to her charge. Bree closed the door softly. Her brown eyes were alive with concern. "Is it true that Lord Gage hasna returned?"

"Mr. Gage and the Killigrew men have just set off to look for him." I searched her features. "Why?"

"Did they go in the direction o' the cliffs?"

"I suspect." When she didn't speak immediately, but instead bit her lower lip as if uncertain whether to say more, I scowled and demanded. "Bree, what is it? Tell me."

"I dinna think that's the way he went," she admitted.

"What do you mean?" I was growing impatient with having to draw the truth from her.

She seemed to recognize this and squared her shoulders. "Because I saw him headin' off down a trail leadin' west. No' the one that leads to Port Quin, but another that leads in a more southwesterly direction."

Which was more or less the direction in which the Grenvilles' property lay. But perhaps Lord Gage wasn't going back to see Pasca but rather Tamsyn, and he hadn't wanted any witnesses.

I frowned. No, that didn't seem right. My father-in-law had never been the sort to confide in another person. He was more likely to brood and hide, preferring to lick his wounds in privacy. If I had learned anything about him over the past few months, it was that he would wish to go someplace he could be alone.

Though that didn't mean that the place couldn't also hold significance.

Having had an inspired thought, I whirled toward the wardrobe. "I need a walking dress and my stoutest boots."

"What do you intend to do?" she asked, brushing past me to gather these items.

"I think I know where he went."

Her eyes were wide as she turned to look at me, draping my smoke blue merino gown over the bed. "You're no' thinkin' of goin' alone?"

"If I must." I slipped my feet out of my slippers and turned to allow Bree to undo my buttons. "I hoped Anderley might go with me. Unless he accompanied Mr. Gage."

"He's no' here."

The terseness in Bree's voice alerted me to the fact I wasn't going to like her answer.

"What do you mean?"

"When I spied Lord Gage…" She broke off, hesitating for a moment before sighing resignedly. "?'Twas because I was followin' Anderley."

"Where was he going?" I asked in genuine shock.

"I dinna ken. But he wasna alone. One o' the Roscarrock farmhands was wi' him."

I silently digested this information, not liking the picture that was forming. I'd grown fond of Anderley. I trusted him. Just as I knew that my husband and Bree did. But his recent behavior called that trustworthiness into question. And it was something I was no longer willing to ignore, no matter what Gage said, for it had hurt Bree and left us all in a difficult position.

Stifling my own anger and disappointment at Gage's valet, I urged Bree to work faster.

"I should come wi' ye," she stated as she finished fastening my walking dress.

"No. I need you to stay here with Emma and Mrs. Mackay. Should Lord Gage return before I do, heaven forbid, and require medical attention, I'm not sure I trust anyone but you to give it to him." Sliding my arms into my forest green pelisse, I opened a drawer in the clothespress to extract my reticule. "Don't worry." I pulled my Hewson percussion pistol from its depths. "I won't be unprotected." Checking to be sure the gun was loaded, I slid it into my pocket.

Bree was too sensible to argue when she knew there was no hope of winning the argument, but that didn't stop her from scowling in disapproval.

"If Gage should return before I do, tell him what you told me and that I went to speak to Amelia about my intuition," I directed before hurrying from the room.

I was relieved to discover she'd not yet retired but sat knitting alongside Joan before the fire in the drawing room. Both women lowered their piecework as I entered the room. My attire must have made my intentions clear.

"Where was Jago killed and his lordship arrested?" I demanded without preamble. I trusted they knew what I meant. It had been one of the topics uppermost in our minds since our arrival, yet no one had dared to address it directly. When neither woman answered, I moved closer. "It was somewhere to the west, wasn't it?"

"Aye," Amelia replied, jolted from her stunned reverie. "Near Epphaven Cove. If ye continue west down the path from the garden, 'twill lead ye straight to it."

"Thank you," I said, already backing from the room.