Page 73 of The Baronet’s Bartered Bride

“Heavens, you didn’t say the housekeeper was a Blackamoor.” The one introduced as Mrs. Treen lowered her chin and squinted at Inez in the manner of a woman growing near-sighted. “What striking looks you possess, child. You remind me of those Africans the Corytons have serving in their house. Brought from their estate in Barbados, I believe.”

Inez held back her anger. Treen had brought her to parade before his mother as a curiosity, and pretend he honored her by the introduction? “I am from Portugal, madame. Not Barbados.”

“Is the baronet married? Affianced?” demanded the second woman, introduced as Mrs. Daw. She had been a mantua maker before retiring from trade to live in respectable leisure. Inez guessed Treen did not actually make hats; he saw himself more as a factor overseeing trades than a shopkeeper. The hats, like the gloves he sold, would be made by someone else, someone underpaid and undervalued for their work.

“Sir Joseph is not married, madame, nor promised,” Inez said.

Mrs. Daw nodded. “All to the good. Perhaps my Ursula might have a crack at him.”

Have a crack, Inez thought, as if the girl were trying out a carriage or a new style of hat.

“Will he entertain?” The third, introduced as Mrs. Abbott, was a hatchet-faced woman in widow’s weeds, stabbing a needle into her embroidery as if it had provided offense. “Favella laid the most meager, miserly table and never had any dancing, and after she died, Sir Reuben entertained not at all. Most unaccommodating of him.”

“I shall leave the entertainments to Sir Joseph’s discretion, mum,” Inez replied. “Though I hope he will prove an amiable neighbor.”

Her heart pinched. Joseph would become a favorite in the neighborhood, she had no doubt. Another success she would not be here to witness.

“So hope we all,” Mrs. Abbott said with a sniff. “Lord knows his father never made much of himself, content to be vicar of that tiny parish in St. Cleer. And marrying a woman from a foreign family to boot. But Melwin says the new baronet makes a fine figure, and I don’t see why my Agnes shouldn’t be able to stand next to your Ursula, Charity Daw.” She glared at her neighbor, and Inez sensed the layers of a long rivalry twining about the room.

“Well, chances are his wife will want a housekeeper of her own choosing, so you’d best have your bag packed, Mistress Da Costa,” Mrs. Treen advised. “Men are so fickle in their ways. Saving my dear Melwin, of course.” She followed this with an indulgent look at her son. “How would you feel about a position in town? You would add a certain flair to our establishment, I will say.”

“I agree, Mother, that Mrs. Da Costa is a delightful addition to our neighborhood,” her son replied. “She adds a certain…je ne sais quois.” Once more his gaze wandered down Inez’s neck to the tiny patch of skin showing above her collarbone. “I do hope we will be seeing…much more of her.”

“My dear Melwin,” his mother simpered, “you are so quick to find the good in everyone. I do hope it will not prove your undoing one day.”

“Never that, Mother.” Treen’s look turned shrewd. “Mrs. Da Costa, your Sir Joseph will have some doing to get his estate producing again, even with such loveliness at the helm of his household. Reuben was a careless landowner at best, and something of a fool. I did my best to help him. Offered to take some of the worthless land off his hands, put coin in his coffers.” He gestured. “Perhaps we might discuss this downstairs, while you shop?”

The interview over, the ladies having gotten nothing useful out of Inez besides sticking their pins of disdain in her, Treen followed her back down the stairs. She felt his gaze on the back of her head, as if he were trying to plant a thought there.

“Just the furze and wastes on the south end of his property, near the spring,” Treen continued as they stepped into the main room of the shop. “You might remember to him that my offer still stands, should he be reviewing his accounts for sources of funds. I do want to see our neighborhood’s finest gentleman firm on his feet.”

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Treen. I am sure Joseph—Sir Joseph—is giving your offer due consideration.”

“I hope he will. He’s not likely to find another who will pay him for useless dirt. Oliver, pins for the lady.” The lad delivered, and Treen placed the packet in Inez’s hands with a small, unctuous bow.

“Should you ever have need of assistance, Mrs. Da Costa—of any kind—I hope you will put Melwin Treen at your service. You may find I am able to offer you advantages that Sir Joseph cannot.”

This was the language a man used when he was trying to poach another man’s mistress. Inez had witnessed enough of these transactions in Dark Lane to recognize the leer of a man who assumed she would be flattered by his offer. As if every woman was a whore in waiting, simply biding her time for the baited hook.

“Are you aspiring to court me, Mr. Treen? You seem so keen in your admiration. And it is true, no woman would wish to remain a mere housekeeper if there were a better position to hand.” Inez couldn’t resist fluttering her eyelashes at him and cocking one hip coyly to the side.

Such a look of horror fled over his face that she bit back a laugh, afraid it would become a sob of fury. He quelled it quickly, resuming the mask, but she saw the truth.

Exotic was not the same as worthy of respect. To such a man, she might ornament his bed, but not his house or his name. His prejudices were the same as his mother’s—the same shared among all his class and kind.

Joseph was of that class and kind, now. The thought was an iron collar choking her neck.

“I admit I had not thought to aspire so high as marriage, Mrs. Da Costa.”

Of course not. Because a housekeeper was a convenient woman. But not the lady of the house. Not the mother of a son and heir.

She turned for the door, but paused when he called after her, unheeding of the shop boy, Oliver, gaping after them.

“I am aware that your dear baronet is in straits, Mrs. Da Costa. I was more in Reuben’s pockets than you know. I can put a significant down payment on a contract should he wish to sell me that land. And I can guarantee full payment in time."

A shopkeeper, buying up part of a local estate? Treen was indeed anxious to climb the ladder to gentility.

“Good day, Mr. Treen. Thank you for the great honor—” the words were ash in her mouth— “of introducing me to your friends.”