Page 34 of The Cornish Inheritance

Chapter Fifteen

The dining room at Roskilly was much like the rest of the main house: elegantly furnished in the height of fashion. Or at least Caroline supposed it must be. Nothing like her old home of Cadley Grange, with its oak paneled walls and the well-polished furniture her great grandparents had probably purchased. No. She mustn’t think about that. Too painful.

The long table that stood on an enormous Persian rug had been laid for six, but not in any sociable fashion. The places were spaced out along its length with Mrs. Treloar occupying the seat at the head of the table that must have once been Sir Hugh’s. She had Trefusis close by on her left, with a long gap to where Nat was to sit halfway down one side, while Hetty, Caroline, and Aunt Agnes had seats to her right. None were close enough for quiet conversation.

Caroline had not been in the dining room before, and she had to admit it pleased the eye, with its pale-green walls and exquisite ornamental plasterwork on the ceiling and the delicate cornice at the top of the walls. Despite daylight still ruling outside, the heavy curtains had already been drawn over the windows and a row of silver candlesticks stood down the center of the table. These had been lit, although no fire burned in the grate despite the unseasonable chill in the room.

She kept her eyes averted from Mr. Trefusis, unnerved by the insolence in his gaze, and not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing how it affected her. She was better than that, but tonight was not a night for staring down his challenge. Tonight was a night for meek obedience and knowing her own place in the hierarchy of the house. Although it didn’t look as though he knew his too well.

When they’d all taken their seats, and the soup had been served, Mrs. Treloar turned to Mr. Trefusis. “Did you manage to extract the rent from the Hammetts at Carnwynnen Farm, as I asked?”

Caroline glanced across the table at Nat but he appeared to be concentrating on his soup. Business seemed an odd thing to discuss at a family dinner. Although it wasn’t really one of those, with her and Trefusis present.

Trefusis possessed such dark eyes they might well have been black, enhanced by the overhang of his heavy brow. “I did… Ma’am, and with the minimum of threat.”

The slight emphasis on the “ma’am” had Caroline wondering if in private he dispensed with it, and wanted to hint at this. Perhaps he wanted them to guess that his relationship with his employer was more than it should have been. The thought sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. For whose benefit had he done this? Hers or Nat’s? Most likely Nat’s. After all, now Nat was home, would Trefusis be able to justify his job? Surely, Nat could now do that. Trefusis would be keen to let Nat know he had the upper hand here, and would be hard to dislodge.

“Good.” Mrs. Treloar spooned up her soup, her spoon chinking on the china. “We can’t have anyone thinking they can plead poverty, as they did with my father-in-law and husband, and get away with not paying their dues.”

Nat set down his own spoon, his jaw hardening. “My father would rather have seen the Hammetts’ children with food in their bellies than forced them to pay what they can’t afford.”

His mother fixed him with a cold stare. “And look where that got him.”

Nat’s cheeks colored, his hand twitched and his lips formed a tight line.

Caroline glanced at Hetty, but she had her head bent over her bowl as though she didn’t want any part of this.

Nat’s brows lowered, but even so were nowhere near as low as Trefusis’s. He glared at his mother. “At least he didn’t have the empty bellies of children on his conscience when he died. And he died amongst his own people. The people who mattered to him.”

Trefusis laughed, a deep, mocking laugh. “You should remember that it’s thanks to me, not your father, that you’re able to return here and live in the manner you see yourself as entitled to, make no mistake.”

Nat’s hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles whitened. For a moment, Caroline wondered if he might leap up and strike Trefusis.

Mrs. Treloar bestowed an icy smile on her son. “He is quite right, Nathaniel. When your grandfather was in charge prior to his illness, and you were away playing at soldiers, the estate was sliding downhill fast. But he refused to hire a manager as I suggested. It was only when he had to take to his bed, and I had control of the finances here, that I was able to hire Jan.” Something stirred in her cold eyes. “He came to me highly recommended.”

Caroline’s toes curled inside her slippers. The rumors were true. Mrs. Treloar couldn’t hide the way she looked at the man by her side.

Nat appeared to be having a great deal of trouble controlling himself. His face reddened and his dark brows almost met. “I was not playing at soldiers.” His words emerged stilted and strained.

Caroline took a wary sip of her soup, wondering if all their meals were like this, although probably not, as Nat had only just returned. The challenging look on Trefusis’s face when he looked at Nat betrayed the way he saw him. As an interloper, and someone come back to sponge upon the empire he considered he’d helped to build, or at least, to shore up.

But surely Nat’s mother would take his side against Trefusis?

Hetty, on Caroline’s left, set her spoon down in her empty bowl, but kept her head down. She must be used to keeping silent.

Aunt Agnes gave a cackle of laughter and dabbed her mouth with the hanging folds of the tablecloth. “You’ll be packing your bags before the week’s out, Trefusis, mark my words. We don’t need you now we’ve got our Robert back.”

“For goodness’s sake, Aunt,” Mrs. Treloar snapped. “For the hundredth time, this is Nathaniel, not Robert. Are you blind as well as foolish?”

Undaunted, Aunt Agnes jabbed her fork at Trefusis. “And I, for one, won’t be sorry to see the back of you. Nor our tenants. You with your money-grubbing ways.”

Trefusis snorted with laughter. “If you think I care what you have to say then you’re wrong, old woman.” He flashed a wide smile at Mrs. Treloar, revealing large, tombstone teeth. “You’ll find Mrs. Treloar depends on me.”

This verbal barrage was so unlike the cheerful mealtimes at Cadley. Caroline’s heart twisted as she thought of her mother, then still further as an image of her jovial father came into her head. Happy to the end, laughing away his fortune, until… She bit her lip, unable to swallow any more soup.

Hetty noticed, of course. “Miss Fairfield, are you quite well?” she whispered, leaning toward her.

Goodness. She’d been late to dinner and had taken Yves out without permission and now she was making a spectacle of herself. She kept her voice low. “Thank you, Henrietta, I am well, just a little overcome.”