Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran) (7 page)

“Claris, resolution is a virtue, but stubbornness is not. Consider well. The life of an impoverished spinster is not to be cherished.”

“I’m
content
,” Claris insisted, remembering saying that earlier, before her world had been cast into turmoil. “Or I would be if not threatened.”

“He can’t force you to the altar.”

“I thank God for that, but I don’t want to be pestered.”

“We can’t forbid him to visit the village, but we don’t have to let him into the house or garden.”

“Who’s going to stop him? He’s a gentleman. Ellie said his clothes were London made. How did she know that?”

“We’ve spent time in London.”

Claris rose to pace the herb garden. “Perhaps I could complain to someone, seek protection. The squire . . .” She dismissed that. Squire Callway was no match for Perriam. “Lord Wishart? The Marquess of Ashart!” she exclaimed. “He’d see him off.”

“And how would you approach such a man?”

Claris blew out a breath. She’d not be allowed through the door of Cheynings. “I’ve heard of people delivering petitions for help to such men.”

“To what purpose? What is your complaint? A gentleman has offered you marriage.”

“And plans to return, even though I forbade it!”

“When he’s returned a half dozen times you might have a case.”

“Then what am I to do tomorrow?”

Athena shrugged. “I could stay at home and stand willing to shoot him. We could bury him in the garden with no one the wiser.”

“No jokes!” Claris protested.

But later, sleepless in her bed, she wondered if it had been a joke. Her mysterious grandmother might be well capable of shooting a man.

She herself had pointed a pistol at him.

She didn’t regret it, but it was the sort of thing to stir a man’s anger. He might return similarly armed—or even with a magistrate. That made her sit up in panic. It was probably a crime to threaten the son of an earl with a gun.

She collapsed back down again. Why was this happening to her?

By what justice were her father’s sins being invoked to torment her?

P
erry enjoyed riding, so the three miles to Cheynings restored his mood.

When he’d set out on this enterprise, he’d intended to take a room at an inn in Woking, but he’d run into Ashart there and been invited to his home. They weren’t close friends, but they’d both lived their adult lives at court and shared many cynical opinions of court and the beau monde.

Perry had been curious to witness Ashart the husband and father, who seemed improbably fond of rural living. Many said that with a beauty for a wife he had reason to spend time at Cheynings, but a wife was a moveable object.

Last evening had answered some questions. Ashart had frankly admitted that Cheynings had needed extensive repairs, which had drained his purse. The beau monde was expensive, but rural living was economical and had allowed him to supervise the work.

It had also been clear that he was enjoying doing so, which was astonishing, even given Genova Ashart’s stunning blond beauty and the charms of an infant daughter who might one day rival her mother. That was no puzzle for his investigation, however.

He hadn’t told the Asharts the details of his business, only that he needed to visit an old connection of Giles Perriam’s. Now, however, he needed help, so once they’d dined and were enjoying coffee in the drawing room, he told the tale.

Ashart laughed. “That almost rivals my family’s demented obsessions and feuds. You’re truly going to marry this woman?”

“One must suffer for family duty,” Perry said, “and perhaps she deserves some good fortune.”

“Then why the pistol?” Genova Ashart asked. Perry had discovered that her beauty was matched with intelligence and an independent spirit.

“She hasn’t yet recognized her good fortune?”

“Or accurately sees that you are not it.”

“She’s living in poverty,” he pointed out.

“Wealth is not the only consideration in life, or I’d never have married Ashart.”

Ashart chuckled. “A true folly, love. One for which I’m grateful.”

The Asharts open fondness was distinctly unfashionable. Perhaps that was why they lurked in the countryside.

“In my experience,” Perry said, “all women wish to marry, but most especially those without the means for a comfortable life. Why is Miss Mallow so different? A sensible answer, if you please.”

“Perhaps she loves another,” Genova said.

“Inconvenient if true, but I don’t think so. She would have thrown that at me like a spear.”

Ashart said, “Perhaps her parents’ marriage has given her a distaste for matrimony.”

“More plausible, but illogical. She and I are not they.”

“Not everyone is ruled by logic,” Genova pointed out.

“Alas.”

Genova frowned. “Your social skills are famous, Perriam, but I fear you must have mishandled this.”

“I did. She seemed so practical that I raced to the point. What now? I have only twenty-two days to get her to the altar, and less time than that before I should be back in Town.”

“You have pressing appointments with your tailor and boot maker?” Ashart asked lazily. He knew better.

“I have, but yet more pressing duties for my father.” To Genova, he added, “He provides both a salary and sinecures so that I be ready to support the family’s interests.”

“What does Rothgar pay you?” Ashart asked.

So that was the thrust of his comment, and might be the reason Perry had been invited here. Perry sometimes assisted the Marquess of Rothgar in delicate matters to do with court politics, but Rothgar was Ashart’s cousin and until recently they’d continued a family feud of their own.

“Are you still sparring with him?” Perry asked.

“Only for amusement, but I could bear to know what engages him at the moment.” When Perry didn’t oblige, he shrugged. “Very well, I’ll return to your entanglement. I see no hope. It’s no longer possible to drag an unwilling bride to the altar.”

Genova offered more coffee and refilled cups. “The normal course is to woo. That didn’t occur to you?”

Perry spread his hands. “How, if she has more brain than a pigeon, and I assure you she has. Did I glimpse her amid her cabbages in her dismal black gown and tattered straw hat and be instantly slain by passion?”

“As bad as that?”

“I understate the case, but at least her appearance is amendable and by God’s grace she speaks well and has respectable manners.”

“When not offended,” Ashart pointed out. “Pointing a pistol at a guest is not comme il faut.”

“If you can’t woo,” Genova said, “then persuade. You have much to offer.”

“And a gift for it,” Ashart said. “If challenged, you could persuade the king to dance a jig down Pall Mall, but you can’t coax a clergyman’s impoverished daughter to the altar?”

“I prefer honest dealings.”

“And you a courtier.”

“I prefer honest dealings in my personal life, and marriage is personal no matter how practical the cause.”

“Then you’ve a lost cause.”

“I reject defeat. I didn’t explain the situation or show her the documents. When I do she’ll see the sense of it.”

Genova rolled her eyes. “Lord save me from illogical men! The documents explain your needs. They don’t touch hers.”

“I’ll lay out the advantages to her, but I hope her grandmother will already have done so.”

“Grannie Mallow?” Ashart said with twitching lips. “She’s probably toiling over her cauldron, perfecting a spell to turn you into a toad.”

*  *  *

Claris spent a restless night, her problems building to horrors, as such things do. Morning light brought some sanity, and she persuaded herself that he wouldn’t try to take her to court over the pistol. He wanted to marry her, not throw her in jail, but how could she convince him she’d never marry him, no matter how he pestered her?

When she found herself taking down one of her better skirts and bodices, she put both back on their hooks and dressed in the black again. It suited her mood and she didn’t want Pestilential Perriam to think she sought to please.

She went into the garden to let out the chickens, aware that the weather was in tune with her mind. The sky was overcast and threatened rain. Perhaps the fine gentleman wouldn’t want to get his London clothes wet. She collected the eggs and returned to help with breakfast. The boys staggered in with fresh water from the village well. Soon they’d eaten and were setting off for the two-mile walk to Hutton Vill and their lessons.

“Study well!” Claris called after them.

Father had insisted on educating them to save money, but he’d not had the patience for it. Despite her efforts to help, they were sadly behind for their age, especially in Latin and Greek. Reverend Johnson was striving to get them ready to go to Dr. Porter’s School in Winchester.

She wished she could afford to send them to Winchester College, which had an excellent reputation, but the fees were too high. Peter was clever and might obtain free admission as a poor scholar, but Tom was slower, and she knew they’d not separate.

When educated, what profession could they aim for? Reverend Johnson had suggested the navy, which they could enter soon, with no money needed. She couldn’t bear the thought. She returned to the kitchen to make bread. Kneading dough was exceptionally soothing.

Pestilential Perriam did not come.

She knew it was too early, but even so she pounded at him through the dough for drawing out the torture, her temper rising.

Ellie was preparing damsons for jam, and Athena was going between her herb garden and her stillroom. He was keeping them all waiting.

She set the bread to rise and looked for another job. Athena came in from the garden with a basketful of seed heads.

“I want a pistol,” Claris said. “Loaded and ready.”

Athena considered her and then nodded. “Very well.” She went upstairs.

“You sure, dearie?” Ellie asked. “You don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

“I’ll regret it if I let that man force me to the altar. Regret it all my days.”

“I’m sure you know best.”

Claris wasn’t, but she wouldn’t be forced. She would not!

Athena returned. “It’s not cocked. To do that, you pull back this hammer on top all the way.” She did so. It made two clicks. “Half cock then full cock. Now, if I were to squeeze back the trigger with my finger, the gun would fire. Be careful. This trigger is eased to suit my old fingers. To uncock it I pull back again and carefully ease the flint down. Take it outside and practice the action. Don’t point it at anything you don’t want to kill.”

As if alarmed, Yatta ran upstairs.

Claris took the pistol outside. It seemed heavier than yesterday, but then, this was Athena’s, not Ellie’s. She just managed to pull back the hammer with her thumb.

Click. Click.

She couldn’t squeeze the trigger without firing it. She pointed it at the cherry tree and imagined doing it.

Yes, she could.

If threatened, she could.

She very carefully eased the hammer back down.

Click. Click.

Her hands were shaking, but she was ready. If he attempted abduction, she could hold him off. She returned to the kitchen and put the pistol on a shelf; then she looked around for something to do. . . .

There was a rap at the door.

Ellie moved to clean her hands, but Claris said, “I’ll go.”

She had to rub her hands on her skirt as she crossed the front room, for her palms were damp. She opened the door, and there he was, sword at his side. It was common enough for gentlemen to be armed when traveling, but she felt it as a threat. A pistol, however, must beat a sword any day.

He bowed. “Good day to you, Miss Mallow.”

“I told you not to return.”

“Alas, my business is imperative.”

His manner was amiable, but that threatened as much as a snarl.
See how confident I am? A well-off and highly born male. What resistance can you offer, you little female mouse?

Claris suppressed a growl. He’d soon see. Today she had Athena, and the pistol, loaded and ready.

“Come through to the kitchen. My grandmother is keen to meet you.”

“The keenness is on both sides. Your paternal grandmother, I understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have grandparents on your mother’s side?”

Claris wanted to snap that it was none of his business, but pettiness would be weak, not strong. “No, alas. They both died before I was born.” She entered the kitchen relieved to find Athena there. For once she would use the term Athena hated.

“Grandmother, Mr. Perriam has returned.”

Athena eyed him without a trace of fear. “A son of the Earl of Hernescroft, I understand.”

Perriam bowed. “Correct, ma’am.”

“Full of his own importance, as I remember, and he was a young man then.”

Claris wanted to applaud. Athena was skillfully establishing her credentials as an equal.

“We must speak here, sir,” Athena said, taking command, “for we have only the two rooms and I’ve commandeered the front one for my potions.”

All was going well, but with new eyes she saw how simple the kitchen was. Though it contained some elegant bits and pieces from the rectory, it was their only living space and was both cramped and disorderly. That wasn’t helped by Ellie at one end of the plain table, squeezing cooked damson pulp to remove the stones.

“Shall I go?” Ellie asked.

“Of course not,” Athena said, sitting at the other end, the head. “Ellie’s been with me since before my marriage, Perriam, and knows all I know of my family’s affairs. Claris.”

Claris obeyed her grandmother’s gesture and sat on her right. That put her close to the pistol. Perriam took the seat on Athena’s left. Had Athena’s directions been deliberate? In the Bible, the sheep were to be on God’s right hand and the sinful goats on his left. Claris had always felt that was unfair to goats, but the placement was appropriate for a relentless invader.

Athena turned to him. “Explain yourself, young man. Your intent to marry Claris is extraordinary and unreasonable, but at first glance you appear to be a rational man.”

Perriam’s eyes narrowed at this attack, but his smile remained. “I was too abrupt yesterday and apologize for it, though in my defense, Miss Mallow did ask me to be brief.”

“Because I was busy,” Claris protested. “I’d no notion of such insanity.”

“I grant you insanity in many aspects of this affair, but permit me to explain. The telling of this story could waste a day, but I’ll do my best to make it brief. As I told you, generations ago the Perriam properties were divided between two sisters, there being no sons to inherit. The older daughter was to pass on the title, so her share of the property would be attached to the title, with its own rules. The property taken by the younger daughter would pass on by will. In order to avoid it being lost to the Perriams forever, it was legally settled that if her line failed to produce a male heir, it would pass back to the senior line. Dry stuff, but essential background.”