Page 93 of The Baronet’s Bartered Bride

The Earl levered himself to his feet. “As you say, my love. Sir Joseph, I’ll leave your man the direction for my man, and they can draw up the papers we require.” He held out his hand to his lady, still addressing Joseph. “Shall we wish you to make us known to the new Duke of Hunsdon and his lady? I hear the Duke was a hey-go-mad rakehell back in the days of being plain Malden Grey, but he seems to have sobered up now.” He winked at his helpmeet. “Expecting an heir settles a man, I believe.”

“My sister the Duchess would be a proper acquaintance for the Countess, I hope,” Joseph said. “Since her ladyship seems to have no quarrel with Portuguese blood.”

He felt a vile satisfaction at sliding “the Duchess” into his speech and watching the three matrons titter again. The new baronet consorting with earls and laying claim to kinship with a duchess was quite acceptable to them. And the Countess had swept all before her with that pointed reminder about the heritage of the beloved Queen. Joseph was in quite good charity with the lord of Tremarron as he walked the earl and countess to his door.

“I look forward to a long and profitable enterprise,” he said, and the Earl, to Joseph’s great delight, shook his hand.

“As do I. S’pose that’s your man with the constable?” the Earl said as Thaker pulled the Illingworth gig into the yard. “Well, what can you expect from a man whose mother was a barmaid?”

“Almost anything, I should say,” Joseph replied. “Same as any man.”

The Earl pondered this as he handed his lady into their coach.

“The land,” Treen moaned as Jock herded him into the hall. “Thousands. It all should have been mine.”

“Now, Melwin.” His mother smoothed her mittens, showing her nerves had been much fortified by her tea. “We shall sort this all out in a trice. Sir Joseph is clearly a man of judgment. He’ll understand that you might have gotten ambitious, particularly as you are so anxious about the care of your Mama, but we shall all be friends in the end. And Lady Illingworth as is to be.” She simpered at Inez, ready to quite forgive her for the error of being born a foreigner. “I hope you will call on me in Church Street, and that Melwin and I shall have the honor of toasting your health at your wedding breakfast.”

“Oh, do call upon me as well, Lady Illingworth as is to be,” Mrs. Daw was quick to add.

Mrs. Abbott did Inez the justice of looking her up and down. “Not as handsome as my Ursula,” she pronounced, “but quite a fetching way about you. Does the baronet have any eligible brothers? Nephews? Cousins or good friends?”

At last, they were alone. Joseph shut the door on the Earl and his lady, on the gig with the constable and his new charge, on the matrons collecting themselves to follow. Wenna whisked the tea tray back to the kitchen, and Joseph regarded the woman who was to be his bride.

Who had, in a matter of weeks, become his all-in-all.

With a swoop, he lifted her into his arms. She gave a small shout of surprise.

“Mrs. Da Costa. Lady Illingworth as is to be. I have something I would like to discuss with you upstairs.”

She slid her arms around his neck, her eyes full of laughter. “We cannot have a proper conversation over tea?”

“Wenna has already taken away the tea tray, and it must be upstairs.” He headed toward the open staircase, bumping her shoes against the railing. “Careful—your skirts—your feet⁠—”

Inez giggled. “You might put me down, and I walk of my own accord. I’ve done so many times.”

“A moment. I think if I change the angle—turn us sideways⁠—”

“Joseph, we’re not going to fit through the hallway. There is no need to carry me abovestairs.”

“It’s an ancient Roman custom, meant to prevent bad luck or mischievous spirits from attaching themselves to the bride and following her to her new home. May as well begin as we mean to go on.”

He put her on her feet only when he’d achieved his bedchamber. Then he pulled her into his arms for a rousing kiss, and Inez melted against him.

“Welcome home,” he murmured against her lips.

Home. That word pushed that strange lump into her throat, like a chunk of roast beef. Penwellen was her home now. Joseph was her home.

“You won’t run away again?” He began the process of removing her bodice, divesting her of pins.

“No further than you can catch me,” she promised, assisting at her disrobing. “I had to settle with Priscilla. I couldn’t come to you a thief.”

“And Wigsby will not threaten you again,” Joseph said. “Or, if he does, I’ll do something that will require Mal to argue eloquently in my defense.”

She thrilled as he ran his hands over the places her outer garments exposed. “I think we might make friends of the Dervieuxes, if they remain in England. So long as you do not let Pierre lure you to the gaming table.”

“I should hope not. But if he has made me a connection with the Earl of Tremarron, I shall be grateful. It’s a young title, but the man is held in regard in these parts.”

“If he supplies the capital to build the engines, and the mines yield as Mr. Hoskyn thinks they will, you shall not have to worry about Penwellen’s fortunes.” She applied herself to the task of undressing him in turn.