Page 12 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

“I realize as a woman of quality that the interworking intricacies of mining and miners is quite beyond your comprehension.” He offered up another one of those oily smiles.

“Quite understandable, Lady Pender, as such things fall outside a woman’s knowledge.

” His words, laced with a patronizing undertone, set her teeth on edge.

He drew out his sentences as if she hadn’t a brain.

As if she were unable to grasp the gravity of a situation. Any situation.

The hint of smugness in his tone grated on her. The audacity that he thought he could bend her to his will easily steeled her resolve. She had grown up dealing with a powerful father, learning from the best. She was not one manipulated so simply as he obviously believed.

He moved behind a massive desk, laden down with ledgers and account books.

A document that appeared legal in nature was in the prominent space with a pen lying across it.

She took in the stack of correspondence, some opened, some unopened, attempting to pull her thoughts together.

Because he was right about one thing: she had no notion of the inner workings of the mining business.

The one thing she did know was people. She leveled a glare on him that seethed her disapproval. “As I understand it, Mr. Trenwith and his son, Jacob, were”— forced —“encouraged to return to work today.”

Mr. Thornfield let out a condescending sigh. “Such tactics are necessary for disciplinary purposes, my lady. If the miners don’t see examples of misconduct, how am I expected to keep things running on schedules? There are obligations to be met.”

“But Mr. Trenwith just lost his ten-year-old son, sir.” His lack of compassion was as shocking as it was insulting.

His thin lips curved in a disdainful smile that sickened her.

“All the more reason for him to maintain his sense of consistency.” He let out a huff of barely concealed impatience.

“If the miners aren’t aware of the consequences of the dangers, they would not understand the reasons for the rules, my lady. ”

“There have been at least two deaths since I’ve come to Penhalwick, Mr. Thornfield. And, I reiterate, the second one is that of a ten-year-old child. You have his name posted on a board just outside this office. Not to mention the list of those injured, which I suspect is a great many.”

His lips tightened.

Perhaps there was some compassion in him.

She pressed on but softened her tone. “Mr. Thornfield, please, the Trenwiths have just lost their child. I believe it appropriate for Mr. Trenwith to be with his wife at this trying time. I am of the belief that unless properly dealt with, such devastation takes a toll on a person. Which can raise the chance of more haphazard mistakes to take place.”

He stared at her as if he’d just reached the gates of Hades and she was Cerberus. An image she rather liked, reinforcing her backbone. She tilted her head, giving the meaning behind her words time to sink in.

It was a slow process and started with his ears turning an unbecoming shade of scarlet.

So, no compassion then. “You,” he sputtered, seemingly at a loss for words.

With a sharp inhalation, he spoke in a low, menacing timbre.

“What exactly is it you are proposing, Lady Pender?” Gone was the patronizing undertone.

His voice had hardened, the tempered patience disappearing, revealing a more menacing aspect of what she suspected was his true nature as he attempted to regain control.

She came to her feet, ditching her own efforts at appealing to a sympathy that did not exist; she sliced him with her own tone of glacial fury. “I insist you give the Trenwiths three days to process their grief for the loss of their son and brother.”

“This is outrageous, madam. I run this mine, not you, and I will run it as I see fit.” He slammed his hands flat on his desk, sending some of the correspondence fluttering to the floor.

She waited. Easy enough for someone who had suffered through enough of Papa’s tantrums.

“Impossible.” He sputtered. “This mine cannot operate without employees. That is what we pay them for.” He swooped the letters from the floor.

“Then you leave me with no alternative. I shall be contacting the mining authorities to oversee the safety measures you say you have installed. I suspect they are quite insufficient.”

He laughed. A robust sound that reverberated against the walls.

“The fact that Tommy Trenwith entered the mine under your watch clearly shows you have violated the Mine Acts of 1842, sir. You’ve lost two individuals in the three years I have been in residence at Perlsea Keep and that is unacceptable.”

“What of it? Considering the dangers involved, madam, two losses is an extremely conservative number.”

“I disagree. That is two people too many in my estimation. How glib you are when speaking of two lives. Two families. Well, I won’t stand for it. I insist you give the Trenwiths three days to process their grief. I will not say so again.”

The smile he turned on her turned her stomach. “I suspect your husband would have much to say about this. But alas, he is nowhere to be found, is he?”

Obviously, he hadn’t heard the Absent Lord had returned. She smiled, her own lips tipping in condescension. “You are quite correct, Mr. Thornfield. My husband will have plenty to say about your actions. And I shall see that you are replaced.”

He snorted.

“My wife is quite correct, Thornfield.”

Startled, Meredith’s gaze flew to the door.

Pender leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.

His gray eyes, dark and calculating, pinned Thornfield with an intensity that sent a palpable chill through the room and through Meredith.

There was no grand gesture of entry—no dramatic step forward—but the quiet power in his stance spoke volumes.

The moment stretched, heavy and silent. Meredith’s gaze moved back to Mr. Thornfield’s startled expression. His sallow complexion paled.

“Ah, Pender. You’ve arrived.”

His brows lifted and the faintest shadow of a smile crossed his lips.

Anyone watching could sense the controlled anger simmering beneath his calm facade. She shivered.

“We meet again, Mr. Thornfield.” Pender’s voice was smooth, low, yet razor-sharp. The very sound of it seemed to suck the air from the room. “It seems you were about to enlighten my wife on how you intend to rectify the disaster you’ve overseen.”

Meredith frowned. “Again?”

Thornfield’s earlier smugness vanished as Pender stepped forward, his boots making no noise against the flagged-stone floor, yet each step seemed weighted.

He made no move to sit, simply loomed over Thornfield’s desk.

His gaze flicked over the ledgers and the legal document still prominently placed, then slowly raised back to Thornfield’s now flushed face.

“I trust,” Pender went on as if he hadn’t paused, his voice as cold as the North Sea, “you did not intend to challenge Lady Pender’s very reasonable request.” His emphasis on “reasonable” was a deliberate mockery of Thornfield’s earlier arrogance.

Inwardly, Meredith cheered. Outwardly, her confidence boosted.

Thornfield’s mouth gaped like that of a beached fish, but Pender raised a hand, silencing him before he could manage a single word.

The fear flickering in Mr. Thornfield’s eyes was most satisfying, but it wasn’t enough. Two individuals had perished, and Meredith was out for blood. Watching her husband now sent a surge of foreboding through her.

It was difficult to believe Pender had returned, not just to claim his estate, but to right the wrongs and neglect his family had wrought.

“You speak of discipline, Thornfield,” Pender said, his tone measured. “Perhaps it’s time you experienced some yourself.” His gaze hardened, and Meredith decided it was time for her to intervene.

Mr. Thornfield’s days in power were numbered, she thought, but they still needed him. “So, you see, Mr. Thornfield, his lordship has plenty to say. I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to have some of the heavy load lifted from your shoulders.”

Pender turned his glare on her, but she wisely ignored it, giving him a bright smile. One of approval.

His lips tightened. A deliberate calm she was quite certain he manufactured at will spoke, his voice softening, though still firm.

“The Trenwith family will receive their time, as my wife has insisted.” The subtle undercurrent of respect in his tone was undeniable, acknowledging her strength in the face of Mr. Thornfield’s contempt.

She let out a small, relieved sigh.

Pender straightened and turned his full attention back to Mr. Thornfield, whose attempt at bluster had fully disintegrated.

“You have until the end of the day to grant the Trenwiths their leave and address the safety concerns at the mine my wife has requested. Failure to comply will not be tolerated, and rest assured, I will make the necessary arrangements for a new agent should you prove incapable of the task.”

The threat was implicit, and Pender had made no effort to soften the blow.

“That’s enough, dear ,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m certain Mr. Thornfield understands—” She spared the odious man a smug glare. “—his place.”

She took her husband’s arm that resembled more a shaft of forged steel, recently taken from the fire, and did her best to steer him out of the stuffy confines.

But he was not quite willing to leave, stopping at the clerk’s desk with specific instructions regarding the Trenwiths. He turned back to Mr. Thornfield one last time. “I’m certain nothing untoward will happen to the men under your watchful eye. Am I right, Thornfield?”

“Of-of course, my lord.”

Before they reached the door leading outside, a crash sounded from behind that had Meredith hunching her shoulders.

Bartlett held the door open for her, but it was her husband who handed her inside. “We’ll talk once we reach the Keep.”

“I’m sure we will,” she muttered as the door clattered shut and the skies opened up with another round of battering rain.

*

Lucius hunched in the saddle, his cloak heavy with the unrelenting deluge.

The steady clop of his horse’s hooves in the saturated mud and the creak of the carriage ahead seemed to be the only sounds in the world, save for the persistent downpour.

His body still vibrated with the force of his outrage.

It stuck in his craw having heard Thornfield speaking so to a woman—not just any woman, but the Countess of Pender, his wife .

His gloved hands tightened on the reins.

She truly cared for these people, as he so recently realized.

She’d spent the last three years living among, helping, supporting the community.

Her actions, though reckless today—and he’d certainly be speaking up on that—showed the depths of her commitment.

His leaving now could put her in peril. No, leaving now was out of the question… for now.

Not to mention the questions surrounding Ashcroft.

With his father dead and Lucius at the helm, he had an innate interest in the tin mines.

His own family profiting from them made that a given.

The land was nothing more than a challenge, he told himself, the remnants of a birthright he hadn’t wanted.

Yet, the sensation that he couldn’t abandon it was… new.

Like it or not, Perlsea was his.

Groaning, Lucius followed the carriage through the village and past the church through to the path leading up to the Keep unable to stem the pelting thoughts laden with guilt.

The land, the title, the people—it had all felt so foreign to him.

He could blame his father, but ultimately the fault lay on his own shoulders.

Uncle Sander and Noah had taken the burdens Lucius had ignored, preferring the benefits but not the responsibility.

But now, despite the rain and mud, despite the cold seeping into his bones, there was something familiar that whispered to him that he belonged here, that this was where his life had been leading him, no matter how far he had tried to run. Chosen to run , he silently amended.

Was it possible that his slip of a wife was at the center of that pull?

The turn his life had taken did not sit well. He’d learned what he’d come to Perlsea for. The temptation to disappear was but a breath away. All he had to do was depart, leave his wife to her follies. Hell, he couldn’t even recall her name!

But glancing at the darkened outline of his countess’s carriage, he knew he couldn’t deny it—he had begun to stake a claim, not just on the land but on her. The thought hit him like the cold rain on his face. His request for an annulment was waning, his purpose changing.

Agnes.

Ashcroft.

Thornfield.

Purpose … An interesting concept. For him, leastways. Purpose.

The dark silhouette of the carriage was barely visible through the sheets of rain.

His wife was in there, sheltered from the storm, but he sensed the tempest raging within her just as fiercely as it did in him.

She had every reason to hate him, to wish him to the devil, to stand against him as she had done since his return.

And, oh, how he was tempted.

His gaze moved past the carriage to the shadow of the Keep easing into view. The imposing structure didn’t look so horrid from this angle. Seeming to watch over Penhalwick like an avenging angel of sorts. Or was it her ?

Did he really think he had what it took to oversee the people of this land? Be accepted? Be a… husband?

These were the questions that had plagued him from almost the moment he’d arrived, and in that instant, he knew he would not be leaving. He would not be abandoning these people, this land, or his wife.

The thought brought a grim smile even as the cold rain trickled down the back of his neck.

For whatever reason, it was time to face the fact that he, Lucius Oshea, was the Earl of Pender. The affairs of the title and all its holdings were his responsibility. Not his uncle’s nor his brother’s.

And what of Docia?

Docia. The most shocking revelation of all. That he’d barely spared her a thought.