Page 24 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

Meredith’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression serene, thanking the heavens, and her father, for her years of training.

She took a sip from her cup to buy herself a moment.

She set it down gently before meeting his gaze.

“Goodness, Papa. I simply enjoy spending time with the women of the village—sharing recipes, mending techniques, and the like. After all, life in Cornwall is rather different than that of London.”

The duke’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if trying to peel away the layers of her words. She knew he wasn’t convinced, but she also knew that she had given him nothing substantial to grasp. “Where is your maid?” he demanded.

Blast. “Visiting her mother,” she said quickly. “Her mother owns Marigold’s Haberdashery.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to make it seem like an afterthought.

“Meredith, I know I needn’t remind you that, indeed, this village is quite the change from London.

Let us hope it doesn’t lead you to misunderstanding your place…

or your influence here.” His smile held a hint of menace.

She was his only child, but that only made things more dire.

It would be expected where her loyalties lay.

Though her insides churned with the weight of what was clearly a threat, Meredith smiled politely. “I assure you, Papa, I know exactly where I stand.”

The silence between them stretched and she picked up the plate of warm delectables. “Scone, Papa?”

His cup clattered against its saucer. “No, thank you. I must be on my way. I wish to speak to Mr. Wren regarding his woodwork.”

Carefully, tempering her fury, Meredith set down the plate. “Mr. Wren works for me, Papa. Certainly, you have no interest in my renovations for Perlsea?” she said mildly.

He rose from the table with a steely smile. “I trust the quality will meet the highest of standards.”

“It suits my purposes.”

With a sharp nod, he said, “Good day, daughter. I expect to see you and Pender for dinner tonight.” Upon his exit, the collective gasp from his entrance let go with a strong exhale.

Meredith watched from the window as her father entered his own carriage, wondering how Pender would enjoy her father’s edict in appearing for dinner. Seconds later, he set off…

In the direction of the mines.

Rising from the table, she slipped into the backroom, closing the door gently behind her.

She leaned against it with her eyes closed, unable to shake an uneasy feeling curling in her chest. Rathbourne was no fool.

He suspected something, even if he didn’t know what, and it was only a matter of time before he learned exactly what she was up to.

He certainly wouldn’t approve of her lifting those he considered her inferiors to greater potential.

To him, it was a fool’s mission to give up one’s power.

“It didn’t go well?” Marigold’s small feminine voice had Meredith’s eyes opening quickly and surveying all five women still seated around the table.

“It didn’t go horribly,” she hedged. “But, my father…” She shook her head unable to explain.

With concerted effort, she pulled herself together and straightened from the door.

“It changes nothing,” she said firmly, going to the table.

She focused on Derwa, gentling her voice.

“I’m going to go through the agreement Mr. Cardy signed before his death, dear.

Do you mind if I speak with Mr. Ashcroft if I have questions? ”

“N-no.” Her stuttered response spoke of her innate fear.

Meredith’s gaze moved about the table. “It is vital that not a word of this escapes this room. It is my fiercest belief that Mr. Thornfield does not realize this agreement is missing. Bray did a very brave thing, Derwa. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but you have every reason to be proud of your late husband. Your daughter, too.”

Derwa’s eyes shimmered. “Thank you, my lady,” she murmured. “That means more than I can say.”

Meredith nodded. The rest of the hour, she went over budget concerns and ideas for edging prices up without alienating customers, neighbors, and mostly, friends.

Because one thing was clear: Penhalwick was a tightknit community.

“Let’s meet next week. I daresay the duke will have taken himself back to London by that time,” she said.

After the women made their way out the back door, she spoke to the room. “One could only hope.”

“Pardon, milady?” Agnes said, startling Meredith.

She took in a deep breath to steady her pounding heart. “Nothing, Agnes. Next time, be sure to stay by my side.”

Clearly confused, Agnes nodded.

“Come, let’s go home.”

*

Lucius spent the morning searching Ashcroft’s office, but he found nothing substantial to give him any idea of the man’s motives for being in Cornwall.

It was getting much too late to search the steward’s cottage.

The yard outside the Keep bustled with activity pertaining to more renovations and Lucius preferred maintaining a sense of autonomy for that particular task.

Instead, he planned to use the rest of his time to focus on the record-keeping Ashcroft was in charge of. But that was not to be.

His wife’s voice sounded in the vestibule and she did not sound happy. It took less than a minute for the library door to crash back and for her to storm the chamber.

“How dare he threaten me!” she ranted.

Shock exploded through Lucius. He dropped his pen and shot to his feet, cringing at the pull in his lower back. “So, help me, I’ll kill Ashcroft. With my bare hands,” he said through a clenched jaw.

“Ashcroft! What are you talking about?” The door slammed hard enough behind her to flicker the gas lighting in the chandelier above.

Lucius pulled up. His teeth clenched. “ Thornfield threatened you?”

“What? No. My father,” she bit out, her hands landing at her hips.

Lucius clamped his lips tight at his stupidity. He was an idiot.

An unladylike snort of disgust sounded from her and to Lucius’s surprise, she stormed to the brandy cabinet and poured out a small glass for herself.

He lowered himself back into his chair. “As bad as that, is it?” He spoke mildly now, having recouped his wits.

Slowly, Meredith turned, facing him, fury covering her lovely face. She touched the glass to her lip and tipped it back, draining it.

A sense of foreboding crept over him. “What is it?”

She turned and poured out another drink. Two this time, then strolled over and held one out to him. “My father has requested our presence at dinner tonight,” she said pleasantly.

“Requested,” he repeated, his tone laced with bitterness. “More like commanded.”

She clinked her glass to his. “Yes. And, he expects us both to attend. And he’s made it clear that we’re to—er…”

“Appear properly attired,” Lucius cut in. Frustration pulsed through his veins. “Who the hell does he think he is, issuing dictates in my own home.”

She scowled. “Don’t you mean our home?”

Heat crawled up his neck. “Er, yes, of course.” Hers, really .

She stepped closer, inundating him with the scent of fresh violets… and brandy. “I advise you not to be late.” She tossed back the second drink and slammed the glass on the hard desktop.

Lucius let out a sharp breath. “Oh, I’ll be there.” But he would not be playing the obedient son-in-law. No one threatened his wife.

He watched as she marched to the door and exited without looking back. His wife.

In name only.

Something that was becoming more and more difficult to maintain. And that was the crux of the entire matter… he wasn’t certain he didn’t wish to change things.

Not any longer.