Page 57 of The Baronet’s Bartered Bride

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Penwellen wasn’t what Inez had expected.

She feared it wasn’t what Joseph had expected, either.

The manor itself was lovely, a symmetrical box of dressed gray stone rising three stories under a slate roof. Four bays of windows stood on either side of a small porch with Doric columns twined with climbing ivy. It faced a southerly direction, warming like a nesting bird in the sun, and the aspect took in swelling green hills, a coppice that Joseph had called Birton Wood, and a small pond fed by the river they’d crossed on the dirt lane leading westward from Callington.

The cottages and outbuildings behind were fashioned of the same dressed stone, all laid out in pleasing proportions, and a larger cottage she guessed was the carriage house stood attached to a stables. A paddock held a bay gelding that watched their approach with pricked ears, and sheep browsed the pastures beside a few small cows that suggested the manor housed its own dairy. As long as she wasn’t required to get closer to any hooved beast than she was from the horse right this moment, Inez thought she would go on fine on a country estate.

But the gravel approaching the drive had not been raked in some time, and weeds poked through. A basin for a fountain stood empty of water, brown algae streaking the sides. Black wreaths hung from paned windows dull with dust, and as Jock pulled the carriage to a halt, Inez saw that the steps had not been whitewashed, nor the door repainted, in some time.

She glanced at Joseph in the chaise beside her. He looked as apprehensive as she felt.

“It’s still standing, so that’s a beginning.” He climbed down from the carriage and held out his arms to help her descend.

“Did you think it would not be?”

His fingers brushed her ribs as he set her on her feet, and heat lanced through her innards like a charge set alight. She hungered every moment for his hands on her. Their time in Amesbury had formed an appetite that only seemed to grow when it was fed.

He’d spent the night in her bed at The George, only sneaking out in the morning after the boots boy had returned his footwear—so much for leaving no sign of himself, Inez thought. At the Lamb and Flag in Honiton he’d arranged adjoining rooms, which happened to comprise the entire upper story and thus secured them privacy. She’d thought it outrageous to pay for two unused rooms, but Jock and his purse seemed well able to stand the expense.

And so Inez had succumbed to the dangerous luxury of a spacious room, a hot dinner accompanied by more wine, and the body of the man she loved in bed beside her, hers to explore and touch and kiss at her leisure.

He still hadn’t taken her properly, too cautious about planting a babe, and the ache for him was growing. What a harlot she was becoming, Inez thought, pushing back her cap to squint up at the house.

The late afternoon sun had lit their way from Honiton that morning, through Exeter and the great moor Joseph called Dartmoor, through a medieval-looking town he called Tavistock and then along a fresh turnpike to Callington. Penwellen was well-situated, enjoying the air of the country but within a stone’s throw from a market town. It wasn’t as lovely as Portugal, but this was Joseph’s home now.

And she wanted to be where Joseph was.

The windows seemed to suck in rather than beam back the sunlight, giving the place a sullen aspect, and Inez heard no movement from humans behind or around or within. No calls of scullery maids sent out to fetch water, no boys shouting to the animals as they moved them along.

No one moved through the fields that ran in strips and hedged squares across the low hills, no one plowing or planting or walking a survey of boundary stones, though there had been plenty of other such activity everywhere else they’d passed, saving the moors. It was the season for it, after all.

No servants pouring out of the house to greet the new master.

Jock swung down from the horse they’d procured at the Queen’s Head in Tavistock and retrieved his crutches. While she felt bruised and weary from the road, Jock looked as fresh as the morning they’d met.

“Not a terrible pile,” he remarked, nodding toward the house.

Joseph straightened his coat and stepped toward the porch. The front door opened.

“And ye be?”

The woman standing in the frame was not much older than Inez. A pert cap held back hair the color of straw, and freckles covered her pink face. She had bright blue eyes and while her appearance was neat, her expression was wary and tired. Her apron was well worn, and so were her shoes.

Joseph paused at the bold address from what was clearly a servant.

“Illingworth,” he said. “Joseph Illingworth. Er—Sir Joseph now, I suppose.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Another ’un coming to claim ee’s the baronet!” She glared at all three of them in turn, her mouth pinched into a disapproving line. “Third this week.”

“This week?” Joseph blinked. It was only Thursday.

“Aye, and they all do just the same. Stroll into th’ouse saying as they own it, poke and quiddle about a bit, and by the time the solicitor arrives, they’s gone, and so’s some of the silver.”

“Pretendin’ to be the gentry cove, and comin’ to crack the crib?” Jock nodded, impressed. “Clean job, that.”

“I am not here to steal the silver,” Joseph said with great indignation. “It would be my silver, wouldn’t it? That is to say, Illingworth silver, and so mine, for the moment.”