Page 23 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

M eredith and Agnes entered The Copper Kettle’s backroom to a somber group where Derwa Cardy, Mrs. Wren, Mrs. Kevern, and Marigold Tremayne sat huddled. Their low chatter slowed to silence and four pairs of wide eyes turned to her. She set her satchel on the table. “Is something amiss?”

It was Marigold who took up the torch. “We hear tell the Duke of Rathbourne has arrived in Penhalwick.”

Meredith looked at each woman in turn. “It’s true. But that shouldn’t change anything,” she assured them.

The silence shrieked against the blue floral papered walls. In the excruciating moment that passed, Elowen entered and some of the tension eased.

Marigold nodded. “Iff’n you say so, ma’am.”

“What exactly is the concern?” Meredith asked, taking her chair.

The women exchanged uncertain glances, their apprehension palpable. Mrs. Wren shifted in her chair. “When men like the duke come around, it ain’t for nothing good. Henry says there’s been talk at the mine—things bein’ stirred up, changes maybe.”

“Surely that’s not due to Rathbourne,” Meredith said, surprised. “He only arrived last night.”

Mrs. Kevern leaned forward, her brow creased with worry. “Well…”

Exasperation rippled through Meredith, but she wrestled it back. “Please, Mrs. Kevern, I implore you”—her gaze moved around the table—“all of you. I give you leave to be completely frank.”

“All right,” Mrs. Kevern said, slowly, hesitatingly. “Since Lord Pender’s arrival…”

Mrs. Wren’s eyes flashed. “We heard that Thornfield’s keeping a closer eye on things—on us . And with the duke here, ’tis bound to get worse. The men at the mine are on edge.”

Meredith was quick to defend her husband, surprising even herself. “But Pender hasn’t done anything. He even went up against Thornfield after… after…”

Marigold nodded. “After little Tommy’s demise. We know, milady. No offense intended, but ain’t no one from the Keep’s been here in years.” Her fingers traced the edge of her apron. “Folk talk, and that’s a fact. We all know what that means.”

Sitting straighter, Meredith’s mind darted like wildfire.

“Yes, yes, I see what you mean, but I don’t see how Rathbourne’s presence should interfere with your lives.

” Only mine , she thought darkly. Her voice remained steady, but even as the words had emerged, she felt the weight of her own uncertainty.

Derwa, who’d remained silent, finally spoke, her voice low and timid. “Begging your pardon, milady, but we don’t believe that. Not for a moment. Thornfield don’t care about us, and that means the duke won’t either. He’ll have the duke’s ear.”

Meredith stifled a scowl. That was likely true.

The room fell silent again with a thick cloud of tension coating the air.

Any reassurances she attempted would fall on closed ears. These women were not afraid for themselves, but for their neighbors and family members, those whose livelihoods depended on the mine.

Perhaps it was time to learn just what her father’s presence in Penhalwick meant, determine if his appearance was more than just a “mere” visit. She would be a fool to ignore these women, not to mention, such blatant signs. And, she was no fool.

But what of Pender? Did his presence signify something happening as well? Something beyond the villagers’ control?

Meredith took a breath, giving herself a minute to think. She softened her tone. “I understand things feel uncertain right now. But you’ve trusted me this far. Can you trust me a little longer?”

Mrs. Kevern clenched her hands on the tabletop. “It’s like they’re drawing a line,” she whispered. “And we don’t know where we stand.”

Mrs. Wren took Derwa’s hand. “Mrs. Cardy already done lost her husband.”

Meredith leaned in. “If there’s a line being drawn, then we shall stand on the right side together. I refuse to let them control us with fear. I will not be silenced.”

The women glanced at one another. Finally, Marigold met Meredith’s gaze and gave a hesitant nod. “We’ll try, milady. We’ll try.”

The tension in the room lifted slightly, but the weight of Rathbourne’s presence and Thornfield’s power still hung over the backroom.

The entire village, actually. This was only the beginning of a larger battle and the gravity of the challenge ahead weighed on Meredith.

Oh, to have Geneva, Abra, and Hannah at her side.

Between the four of them, Meredith knew she stood a chance.

Her friends weren’t here, but she was, and she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t even try.

The fact that doubts plagued her was infuriating. Her thoughts flickered to her husband. Was he truly an ally? Could she trust him? He hadn’t been put off when she’d mentioned her meetings with these women. But taking the chance…

Meredith stiffened her spine then spoke encouragingly, confidently.

“The important thing for us is to keep moving forward. Our task remains unchanged. Mrs. Tremayne, you will still have your haberdashery. Derwa, you’ll continue sewing.

Mrs. Wren’s carpentry business will still operate, right?

” She looked at each woman in turn, waiting until each one nodded back.

Perhaps hesitantly, definitely slowly. Inhaling deeply, Meredith folded her hands on the table.

“Did any of you remember to bring your contracts?”

Mrs. Kevern scowled. “I couldn’t find Bart’s.”

For the first time, Derwa spoke up. “I-I have the one Bray was forced to sign,” she whispered.

“He—” She stopped and glanced around the table, then pulled a sheaf of papers from her overlarge reticule and slid them across the table.

“He snuck ’em home.” Tears slid silently down her cheeks.

“Said he didn’t know what they’d made him sign but feared it would bring me trouble.

‘ Take it ,’ he’d said, ‘ find someone who can help .’”

Meredith slid them in front of her. “Have you read through them?”

“As best I could, but I ain’t no scholar, milady.” Her eyes shimmered. “My Bray, he was a smart man,” she said with a flash of unusual fire. “The fact that he couldn’t read didn’t mean he was slow-witted.”

Mrs. Wren leaned over and wrapped an arm about the young woman’s shoulders. “Course, he wasn’t, dearie.”

Sympathy swelled through Meredith as she glanced through the documents. But the more she read, the angrier she grew. This was a confession.

The Widow Elspeth’s head peered around the door. “The duke’s walking up,” she said in a breathless rush. “The duke .”

“Blast.” Meredith stuffed the papers in her satchel. “I’ll go through this with Mr. Ashcroft, if that’s all right with you, Derwa.”

She gave a quick nod.

“I’ll head off my father. If you can sneak away without being seen, go. If not, I’ll return when he’s gone.” She slipped out, latching the door behind her.

Spotting Mrs. Thims at her regular table with Mrs. Mordaunt and Miss Oppy took Meredith back three years to when she’d first arrived in Penhalwick. She strolled over as casually as she could manage and said hello, just as the door opened and Papa strolled in.

A collective gasp seemed to ripple through the tiny shop.

“Good morning, Papa. What brings you into the village so early?” Meredith said, her pulse pounding hard.

Elspeth carried a tray with a pot of tea and plate of scones to an empty table. “Here you are, Lady Pender.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Trelawney.” Relief poured through her. She took a chair at the small table near the windows and poured out a cup, surprised her hand remained so steady. She wrapped her cold fingers around the warm porcelain teacup. Though her heart raced, she kept her face calm.

Meredith couldn’t afford to let him sense anything amiss, not with the women gathered in the backroom, discussing far more than household matters.

Elspeth, ever quick, moved smoothly behind the counter, her body language neutral, though Meredith sensed her tension.

“Morning, Mrs. Trelawney,” Rathbourne greeted with a coolness that didn’t fool Meredith. She had seen him use that same tone to dismantle men twice his size. “I hear this place is quite the gathering spot of Penhalwick.”

And, where had he heard that?

Elspeth smiled, polite as ever. Meredith wanted to hug her. “Aye, Your Grace. Folks do like their tea, especially on days like this.”

Rathbourne drifted toward Meredith, and she braced herself, letting out a soft, thoughtful sigh as if lost in her own musings. Before he could approach Elspeth again, Meredith shifted her chair slightly, drawing his attention.

“Mrs. Trelawney,” she called out, her voice amazingly steady. “Could you bring a cup for His Grace.” Meredith inclined her head, a gesture of respect tinged with cool familiarity, indicating him to join her. “How fortunate. I hardly expected to see you in the village, Papa.”

His gaze sharpened, and he took a step closer to her table, clearly intrigued. “Thank you, my dear,” he replied, dropping in the chair across, his tone laced with false warmth. “I find it interesting—your recent… immersion into village life.”

“Recent?” She gave a tinkling little laugh no one would be fooled by.

“No, Papa. I’ve been here for three years,” she corrected him with a small, innocent smile, tilting her head slightly.

“What else was I to do?” She shrugged. “Since I’ve taken up residence at Perlsea Keep, I’ve found the villagers to be quite welcoming.

It’s only right I do what I can to help bolster the community as mistress of Perlsea. ”

“Help?” He raised an eyebrow, feigning interest. “I’ve heard quite the opposite, actually. Some would say you’re doing more than just socializing.”