Chapter 5

The edifice that emerged from the green hills bordering the sea wasn't the most impressive I'd ever seen, but it was quite possibly the most welcoming. Especially after hours of rattling over the most abominable roads with a cranky, fussing infant. And if we weren't rattling—and jolting, and jouncing—then we were struggling through mud so thick we'd been forced to get out and walk while the men pushed the carriages out of the mire. My father-in-law had cautioned us, but even his dire predictions had not gone far enough.

Sometime after we'd reached the edge of Bodmin Moor, I'd ordered Gage and his father out of the traveling chaise and told them to ride their horses. An order, I noticed, they were quick to accept. Such a long ride on horseback might aggravate Lord Gage's leg, but I was beyond caring at that point. Not when their withdrawal allowed me to have Mrs. Mackay and my maid Bree moved into the lead carriage with me so that the three of us might work together to comfort Emma.

Any normal lady might have simply passed the squalling child off to their nanny to contend with, as Lord Gage had been quick to point out, but I was no normal lady. I couldn't simply close my ears to her cries. Besides which, she needed to nurse, an activity she refused to do, to my growing frustration, worry, and discomfort.

Not that I could blame her. The jarring and lurching were also making me queasy. I'd not eaten a bite of the dinner laid before us at the last coaching inn. My husband and his father were wise enough not to remark upon it, or my surly mood.

Now that a stone-faced manor house slid into view, its slate roof mottled here and there with chartreuse moss, I felt a stirring of hope. Surely, we'd reached the edge of the isle of Britain and would drive over the cliffs into the sea if we didn't stop soon. Surely this must be Roscarrock House.

At the thought, a part appeared between the lush green headlands beyond the manor, allowing our first glimpse of the ocean. Its deep blue water sparkled in the rays of the sun as it sank toward its horizon in an almost periwinkle sky. I must have straightened or given some indication of my relief, for Mrs. Mackay and Bree both turned to follow my gaze out the window, exhaling breaths of their own.

"Finally," Bree muttered under her breath, breaking the long-suffering silence that had fallen between us, broken only by Emma's grunts, cries, and wails, and the croons and pleas of whoever's turn it was to attempt to soothe her. It was clear Bree hadn't meant to utter this aloud, for her eyes darted to mine. "?'Tis only, I thought the roads to the Highlands were rough, but this…this…"

I held up a weary hand. "Say no more."

I peered resignedly at my seven-month-old daughter, who had burrowed into Mrs. Mackay's shoulder, part of her ragdoll Rosie stuffed into her mouth as she furiously sucked and gnawed on it, making little grunting noises. Her cheeks were red and her blond curls damp with sweat. I knew I should take her so that I could introduce her to the Roscarrocks, but Mrs. Mackay had somehow mollified Emma enough so that at least she wasn't howling. I feared if we transferred her to me, she would begin wailing again.

Deducing my thoughts, Mrs. Mackay spoke softly. "I'll care for the bairn while ye greet Lord Gage's family. Change her and wash her doon with a warm cloth. Then hopefully she'll settle to ye." She adjusted Emma's position against her shoulder. "Dinna fash. She'll sort herself quick once we've stopped movin'. Though 'twill likely be another few days before this tooth pops through."

It had been a not-so-pleasant surprise that morning to discover my daughter was also cutting her first tooth, for it only compounded Emma's, and consequently all of our, discomfort on this journey.

"Ye just breathe in that fresh sea air and try to relax," Mrs. Mackay advised. "The calmer you are, the easier she'll cooperate."

I recognized the wisdom of this and inhaled the salty breeze already seeping through the joints of the carriage deep into my lungs.

Bree shifted to the bench beside me, reaching up to fuss with the tendrils of hair which had escaped from my blue watered-silk capote to curl about my face.

"I fear I'm beyond repair," I told her, lifting the muddy hem of my once-smart king's blue carriage dress of figured gros de Tours. "I fear we all are," I added with a glance at their own hems and half-boots. I imagined the men were in an even worse state. Even Lord Gage's fastidious valet Lembus, who had remained in the second carriage rather than ride on horseback with his employer, Gage, and Anderley, must be soiled to some extent from the men's efforts to free the carriages from the mud.

"Aye, weel, they're a foolhardy lot if they dinna expect us to appear a little worse for wear," Bree declared with one last adjustment to my bonnet. "?'Specially since they wanted us to make haste."

I couldn't argue with that. Not when I was harboring the same thought.

The carriage turned down a drive flanked by tall hedges on one side and barns and outbuildings on the other. It drew to a stop just shy of a small gap where the topiaries met the stone wall forming the north edifice of the main house. Gage soon appeared in the carriage doorway, lowering the step. He offered me his hand to help me out, and then turned as if to retrieve Emma.

I pressed my hand to his arm, halting him. "Leave her," I stated, and then softened my tone at his surprise. "For now."

He glanced between me and Emma, whose scrunched features revealed she was going to begin wailing again soon. A flicker of sympathy passed over his face and he nodded before closing the door and rapping on the side to indicate that the coachman could carry on toward the servants' entrance and stables.

We stepped back as they moved forward, nearly colliding with a man of wiry stature emerging from the gap in the hedges. He wore no hat, allowing the wind to comb through his gray hair threaded with the remnants of what once must have been a head full of blue-black hair. I guessed that he was approximately the same age as my father-in-law, though the years had not been so kind.

He took us in with one mildly hostile glance while a dark-haired man whom I suspected was his son observed us impassively over his shoulder, and then turned to sneer at Lord Gage. "The prodigal grandson returns."

The younger man seemed startled by the venom in his father's voice, but he didn't object.

"Bevil," Lord Gage replied with equal rancor.

Bevil shifted a step closer, nearly standing nose to nose with him. "Well, don't expect me to kill the fatted calf." His gaze dipped to rake over him. "Truth be told, I didn't believe you'd dare show yer face 'ere. Not after what 'appened. Not after what ye did durin' the war."

I slid a look sideways at Lord Gage, curious what that meant.

He arched a single eyebrow, one corner of his lip curling contemptuously. "If you'll recall, we weren't at war then. That was personal."

Bevil's eyes narrowed. "Ye nearly ruined us!"

"I don't believe I was the one breaking the law."

"Boys, boys!" a rasping voice scolded. It belonged to an older woman emerging through the hedges. She must have been nearing seventy, and although her back was still straight and her pale eyes sharp, she needed the assistance of a woman closer to my age to walk. A young woman whose dark eyes sparkled with open curiosity.

"Why must ye always bicker. Ye 'aven't seen each other in nigh on fifty years, and yet still you're squabblin'." The older woman gave a long-suffering sigh. "I suspect ye 'aven't even introduced yourselves, nor your kin."

Bevil continued to scowl, but Lord Gage stepped forward to take the older woman's hand, his demeanor softening. "Aunt Amelia. It's good to see you still looking so fresh and spry."

Her lips curled into a smile as she removed her hand from his grasp to pat his cheek. "Aye, ye always were the charmer." Her voice turned wistful. "Just like your mother."

"I received your letter," Lord Gage said, breaking the somber silence that had followed that statement.

"Aye," Great-Aunt Amelia spoke on an exhale. "Or else ye wouldn't be here, now, would ye?" Her expression turned shrewd. "Or do I 'ave yer son and daughter-in-law to thank for finally persuadin' ye to put the past in the past?"

Gage and I stepped forward as cued.

"My son, Sebastian," Lord Gage declared as Gage bowed over his great-aunt's hand.

"I'm pleased to meet you," he told her sincerely. I could see that my husband's good looks were having their usual effect.

"Oh, my. And don't you turn heads. I suppose this is what your father looked like twenty or thirty years ago." Her gaze slid sideways toward her nephew. "And what, with the devil he had inside 'im when he was young, he likely woulda trampled 'alf the hearts in the county."

Lord Gage frowned.

But rather than be deterred, Great-Aunt Amelia merely waggled her eyebrows at him.

"My wife, Kiera," Gage interjected, drawing me forward.

"I see," she murmured, scrutinizing me closely. "Lady Darby," she said, using my courtesy title from my late husband. "I have been looking forward to meeting you."

"Please, call me Mrs. Gage. Or Kiera, if you prefer. I suppose we are family."

I didn't explain that I despised still being addressed by the title my marriage to Sir Anthony had bestowed on me. That the courtesy society showed me by addressing me as such because my first husband outranked my second was not truly a courtesy at all, but a terrible reminder of all I'd suffered at Sir Anthony's hands.

"And your daughter?" Amelia asked.

"I'm afraid is a trifle fussy after such a long journey," I informed them apologetically.

"Oh, yes," the younger woman exclaimed in empathy. "The local roads are terrible! And to have traveled all this way so quickly." She smiled in commiseration. "But she will settle soon enough now that you've arrived."

I hoped so. I was already fighting against the urge to loosen my stays to relieve at least some of the pressure in my chest. Of course, I said none of this out loud, but I could tell that she understood. Probably because she was a mother herself.

"I'm Dolly," she said, nodding toward the dark-haired fellow. "Tristram's wife."

"And Tristram is my grandson," Amelia explained, making nearly everything plain as she then gestured toward the man who had antagonized Lord Gage. "My son Bevil's son."

"And you are Lord Gage's mother's sister?" I asked in clarification. "So Great-Uncle Branok was your brother?"

"Aye." A deep weariness seemed to cloak her, sharpening the lines of her face and bowing her shoulders. "But please, come inside, and I can better explain." Like her kin, she glottalized some of her words, turning the Ts in the word better to mere breaks of sound.

Dolly and Tristram helped to guide her back toward the house, and Gage and I slowly followed, with Lord Gage and his cousin Bevil falling into step behind us. Neither man offered the other further antagonism, but I could practically feel the hostility bristling between them.

Once through the gap in the hedges, Great-Aunt Amelia's slow progress afforded me plenty of time to scrutinize our surroundings. We found ourselves in a walled garden—one that, by all appearances, was very old and likely medieval in origin. There were two levels, and we were currently on the raised terrace, which boasted a number of topiaries and beech trees as well as a pair of square gate piers denoting what must have traditionally been the main approach to the house on foot. Though it was already November, I could see that the lower garden still enjoyed a number of colorful blooms, which would not have survived so late in the season elsewhere.

The main block of the manor stood to our right, faced with bands of granite ashlar and squared rubble and slate. Building it thusly would have been an intricate process and the effect was quite pleasing, even if the remainder of the edifice was quite plain. Square, single-sash windows marched across the fa?ade with a small Doric porch covering the entry. The flush panel door with a fanlight was painted white, as were the two columns flanking it.

We passed through this door and into a simple entry hall with flagstone floors and a set of stairs leading to the level above. A man who I supposed was their butler, though he was dressed far more humbly than any man I had ever seen in such a position, waited to take our outer garments while our hosts preceded us into a room on the right. Gage and I glanced down at the mud still splattering our lower extremities, some of which had even splashed as high as his thighs.

"Don't worry," a woman with sharp features entering from the rear of the house informed us. "It's not like we 'aven't seen the like every day of our lives." When still I must have looked uncertain, she threaded my arm through her own. "We expected ye to be dappered after such a journey. A cup of tea will soon set ye to rights, and then we'll let ye settle into your rooms."

I allowed myself to be propelled into what appeared to be the drawing room. Its windows looked out upon the pleasing aspect of both gardens. The furnishings were unexpectedly of a recent design, the upholstery in a shade of puce that was all the rage just twenty years ago. Though I feared it wouldn't remain looking neat and new if I sat upon it for long.

"Ah, there ye are, Joan," Great-Aunt Amelia declared as she settled deeper into an armchair situated near the hearth. I could smell the earthy scent of peat. "As ye can see, my nephew Stephen has arrived along with his son Sebastian and daughter-in-law Kiera." Her gaze shifted to me. "Joan is Bevil's wife."

I nodded to the woman who had directed me to a birchwood settee with scrolled arms, doing my best to keep my stained hem from touching the silk as I perched at its edge.

"Welcome to Roscarrock," Joan told me as she sat opposite, next to her mother-in-law. "I believe I just met your daughter." She clucked her tongue in pity. "Teething, is she? Well, I've directed your nursemaid to the small bedchamber next to your own. I was afraid Tristram's children would be too rowdy for her in the main nursery."

"Thank you."

She waved her hand, dismissing any further comment on the matter before turning to Gage and his father, who had exercised their prerogative as men to remain standing. I suspected the long day's ride on horseback had made them both sore. I couldn't help scrutinizing Lord Gage's features for signs that his recently injured leg was paining him while Joan spoke. "I'll show ye to your rooms dreckly."

"You've met all of us who live 'ere in the main house, then," Great-Aunt Amelia stated, before I could question what dreckly meant. It sounded like a distortion of directly, but since Joan made no move to rise, I suspected it meant something more like soon. "That is, for the time bein'," Amelia continued. "My daughter and other grandchildren and their families live nearby, so you'll meet them in due time. But for now…" She glanced around at her family. "?'Tis essentially us."

I considered this statement and the five new family members ranged before us as the tea tray was brought in. Though Bevil had held his tongue since his mother's scolding, I could tell he was still no happier about our presence. He stood near a window, turned partially away as if to avoid the sight of us as he scowled out at the sunken garden on the south side of the house. His wife Joan seemed a trifle more welcoming, or at least resigned to our presence as she slid forward to begin pouring tea for everyone. Their son Tristram slumped in a chair near the door through which we'd entered, observing us all with a pensive stare. His was the demeanor I most struggled to decipher, unable to tell if he was masking his dislike or reserving judgment. His wife Dolly, on the other hand, was the most outwardly accepting. However, even her pleasant smiles were edged with stiffness. Perhaps because she worried the rest of the family would not approve of her friendliness.

Whatever the case, it did not escape my notice that the most receptive was also the most recent addition to the Roscarrock family. Or rather, the Killigrews. I waited until the maid had left the room to voice the insight that had just occurred to me. "Then Great-Uncle Branok was the last of the Roscarrocks?"

They all turned to look at me. Even Joan paused midpour.

"That is, you all must have a different surname if Amelia was born a Roscarrock." When none of them spoke, I added uncertainly. "Unless I'm mistaken?"

"Nay. You're correct," Amelia responded. "I married James Killigrew. God, rest 'is soul." She clarified all of this while looking at Lord Gage, perhaps because she'd expected him to have already explained. "But there is still one Roscarrock yet in Cornwall. Branok's grandson, Meryasek."

I couldn't stop myself from looking at my husband. A glint of amusement flickered in his eyes at the shared memory of his suggesting this for our child's name. At the time, it had been a sort of game. But now that I was meeting the people who had either inspired or shared in the heritage of those sobriquets it seemed far less humorous. A realization Gage seemed to share as the mirth faded from his face.

"But Mery prefers to live in one of the cottages on the other side of the estate," Amelia continued as Joan rose to pass teacups to several of the men. "Or at least, he has 'til now." She frowned, her fingers fretting the fringe of her shawl. "Since the estate is all now his, sooner or later I suppose he'll wish to move back to the main house."

"Or more likely, he'll go on doin' whatever he pleases," Tristram grumbled. "?'Specially without Great-Uncle Branok to keep him in check."

"Aye, well," Amelia said as she exhaled resignedly. "He just might surprise us."

"Then you 'ave more faith in 'im than I do." Bevil turned his head to scoff over his shoulder.

Though I had only known the family for a quarter of an hour, it was becoming evident that it was on Bevil's shoulders that much of the responsibility for the estate now rested. And yet he didn't own a square meter of it. It all belonged to his uncle's grandson—his second cousin. That couldn't be an easy thing to swallow. Particularly if Meryasek was as neglectful as they seemed to indicate.

"I take it Mery isn't married?" Gage asked.

"Nay." Tristram gave a gasp of derisive laughter. "And I pity the woman who agrees to be his wife."

"Tristram," his mother scolded, perhaps feeling this went too far.

Even Dolly looked slightly chagrined at her husband's remark.

Joan arched her chin as she passed me a cup of tea. "Mery may have sowed more than his fair share of wild oats, but I trust that he'll recognize he must stop his youthful indiscretions now and focus on his duty to the family."

And by duty, it was clear she meant producing an heir.

No one contradicted her. At least, not verbally. However, based on their facial expressions alone, the rest of the family did not share her confidence.

I sipped my tea, glancing surreptitiously at Lord Gage. He'd said very little since entering the house. I knew this couldn't be easy for him, and the rigidness of his posture bore that out. His expression was tightly closed off, much like his son's when he didn't know how to feel about something or how to mask his emotions. If anything, he seemed dazed from being here after so much time had passed. His gaze kept darting around the room and straying toward the window overlooking the terrace garden, as if cataloging both the new and familiar and struggling to reconcile it with his memory.

He was certainly not his normal self, and I suddenly felt an acute sense of protectiveness toward him. He seemed in many ways defenseless, and so I sought to keep the conversation and their attention focused on me while he acclimated himself. Gage seemed to sense this as well, aiding me in my efforts. That, or his natural curiosity spurred him to do so unconsciously.

"You said there was one Roscarrock yet in Cornwall," Gage pointed out, passing his empty cup back to Joan and declining another. "Are there Roscarrocks elsewhere?"

Amelia cast another sidelong look at Lord Gage. "I see my nephew upheld his vow to all but forget us." Her voice rasped like sandpaper. "There 'ave been Roscarrocks in this very spot…" She tapped the arm of the chair in emphasis. "Since the Norman conquest. We've owned this land unbroken for generations. My father…" She gestured toward the wall behind me, and I turned to discover a portrait hanging above the sideboard. A very credible portrait of a gentleman at the upper end of his prime.

"Meryasek Roscarrock, for whom Mery is named," she explained as I set my teacup aside and began to rise to my feet.

"May I?" I asked somewhat belatedly, for in my interest I was already rounding the settee.

Great-Aunt Amelia nodded.

My gaze strayed briefly to Lord Gage, who stared resolutely out the window at the front garden. No wonder he was uncomfortable. His grandfather—the man who had gotten him entangled with smuggling and, after he'd been arrested, had sent him to sea—was even now glaring down at them. Though, in truth, his likeness was far more beneficent. A few more degrees, lift to the outer edges of the mouth, and he would actually be smiling.

"?'Tis painted by John Opie," Amelia declared with pride.

The Cornish Wonder.

"I thought I recognized his technique," I replied, leaning closer to study the work of the man Sir Joshua Reynolds had once praised. Opie had been the self-taught son of a carpenter and possessed a brilliant eye. I'd studied a number of his portraits over the years. He'd been remarkably prolific during his short lifetime, capturing many members of the nobility and royalty on canvas, and also apparently my husband's great-grandfather. This must be one of his earlier works, painted before he traveled to London, before he became so highly sought after.

"My father was an only child," Amelia continued, settling into her chair as if she was about to begin a long story. "But he produced four children, the first of whom was Branok. Now, Branok had but one son, Casworan. And a meaner, more ill-tempered man you'll never meet. He'd kick a dog as soon as look at it."

I snuck a glance at Lord Gage to see if his expression confirmed this, but either he wasn't attending to her story or Casworan's ill humor hadn't yet made itself known before he'd received his commission in the Royal Navy.

Amelia shook her head. "Casworan lived just long enough to beget Mery before gettin' 'imself killed in a tavern brawl, mourned by no one. And that makes Mery the last of Branok's line."

I nodded, following what she was saying.

"Father's second child was my sister Margaret. From whom you descend," she told Gage. Her clipped words suggested a grief that had never healed. "Next came my brother Swithun, who immigrated to Pennsylvania just before the colonies revolted. Managed to survive and produce quite a healthy number of offspring." She cackled. "Probably just to spite Branok."

This caused a flicker of amusement to pass over Lord Gage's features, telling me he was listening to what was being said more than it seemed.

"And Father's last child?" Amelia sighed contentedly. "That would be me. I've two children, four grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren with one more on the way."

I smiled. "Something to be proud of."

"Aye." Her shoulders slumped inward, and the sparkle that had lit her gray eyes was now gone. "Now, ye know why I've asked ye here. I know time is passin' and ye must have many questions. But I'm not as young as I once was, and my heart…" She broke off, pressing her hand to her chest as she took several shallow breaths. "My heart is weaker than I'd like."

Joan hastened to her side, but Amelia stayed her with a touch of her hand and a smile that was meant to reassure.

"Tomorrow will be soon enough," she told the rest of us before allowing Joan to help her to her feet. "I'll explain everythin' then."

I couldn't help but feel concerned as I watched her shuffle from the room with her daughter-in-law's help. Her breathing was labored and the vibrancy which had seemed to color her had been all but extinguished. Maybe this could be attributed to fatigue, but her comment about her heart and the worry scoring the brows of her family members made me suspect it was far more serious.

"I've matters to see to," Bevil proclaimed gruffly, striding through a second doorway which connected to an adjacent chamber. A short time later, we could hear another door open and then close.

A deep frown marred Lord Gage's features, making it clear he was suspicious of what exactly those matters were, and whether they had anything to do with smuggling. I doubted his cousin would be so bold, regardless of their antagonism toward each other, but then I had only just met them.

Gage moved forward to engage Tristram in conversation, and I soon found Dolly hovering next to me.

"I can show ye to your room, if ye like?" she offered with a tight smile. "I'm sure you're anxious to tend to your daughter."

I was. Rather desperately so. I'd been struggling to ignore my growing discomfort. "Thank you."

Gage's eye caught mine as she ushered me from the drawing room and I knew he would wait to join me until after Emma nursed so that she didn't become distracted by his presence, as she was wont to do.

"Your mother-in-law said you have children," I remarked as we began to climb the stairs.

Dolly's pretty face brightened. "Aye. Two boys, aged eight and seven, and a four-year-old girl." She tucked a stray strand of honey blond hair behind her ear. "I'm glad Mother thought to put your daughter in a different bedchamber." She laughed somewhat apologetically. "I'm afraid my boys can be quite unruly at times, and their sister tends to follow suit."

"It seems little boys are often that way."

"Perhaps. But these boys certainly have Roscarrock blood flowin' through their veins, I can tell ye."

I didn't know what to say to this, especially after Great-Aunt Amelia's observations about her nephew Casworan and everyone's comments about Mery. It was almost as if they were saying too much Roscarrock blood was a thing to be avoided. Or perhaps they were simply attempting to excuse their poor behavior because of it. Nevertheless, I tended to believe that a person's character had less to do with their lineage and more with their upbringing and choices.

"Cousin Stephen," Dolly began tentatively. "He's not what I expected."

I could only imagine what she'd been told about my father-in-law. Particularly if Bevil was doing the talking. I doubted her mother-in-law's or husband's opinions of Lord Gage were rose-colored either, considering they had no firsthand knowledge of him.

"I suppose Gage and I aren't what you expected either," I observed casually. After all, they would only have had the newspaper reports to judge by.

The red suffusing Dolly's cheeks was answer enough.

"Things here seem…unsettled," I ventured after searching for the right word, hoping to draw her out by ignoring her embarrassment.

She eagerly leapt at the change of subject. "Great-Uncle Branok's death has troubled us all, of course. And Nanna's suspicions about how it 'appened."

I was quick to note she'd said they were Great-Aunt Amelia's suspicions, not everyone's. Did the others think differently?

"And we're all a bit anxious about whether Mery will abide by his granfer's wishes and keep Father—and Tristram after him—as his steward."

"Bevil worked as his uncle's steward?" I supposed that clarified some matters.

Dolly nodded, pausing as we reached the top of the stairs. "Great-Uncle Branok believed 'twas best to keep the position in the family, so he offered it to his nephew Bevil. He's served as steward here since Branok inherited the estate. And Branok promised the position to Tristram upon Bevil's retirement or death." We rounded the corner into a corridor as she continued. "Branok's will stipulated that Mery should keep the arrangement, but…" She shrugged one shoulder.

"That doesn't mean he will," I finished for her.

Her brown eyes were shadowed with worry. "So ye see, that's why we're all a bit…unsettled," she concluded, borrowing my word.

I nodded. "I do see."

She inhaled a shaky breath and turned to look down the corridor to the right. "Your daughter's nursery is through the door straight on, and your own bedchamber lies to the right of it at the corner."

I thanked her and tried to offer her some encouragement. "We'll do what we can."

She offered me a weak smile. One that was not brimming with confidence. It plagued my thoughts as I hastened to Emma.