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

Meredith turned her gaze back out the window.

Not even a warm scone could entice her. She missed her friends.

Letters, while nice, were not enough. Abra’s stepmother, Lady Woodbridge, was trying to wrangle a betrothal for Abra to a horrid marquess.

Hannah was busy with the Season’s events.

And Geneva… Ah, Geneva. Geneva was the most unpretentious, down-to-earth, yet ambitious woman Meredith had ever known.

Even during their days at Miss Greensley’s School of Comportment for Young Women of Quality, Geneva hadn’t allowed her humble background to silence her against those who treated her as unimportant.

The friend who grew up on Berwick Street never hesitated to take up the fight against those who said hurtful things to their friend, Lady Abra Washington, Lord Woodbridge’s daughter whose mother was of Jamaican heritage and shy Hannah who struggled with stuttering unless around people she knew well and with whom she was comfortable.

“Lady Perlsea?”

Startled from her musings, Meredith’s head snapped around. “Er, good morning, Mrs. Thims. Would you care to sit?”

“Oh—” The woman was in or near her fiftieth year.

Her slight frame looked frail enough to blow away in a stout Cornish wind.

She wore her gray hair in a bun at her nape and her blue eyes appeared worried.

“Um, thank you,” she said, tentatively taking the chair across.

She leaned in—huddled, rather—and lowered her voice.

“It’s my daughter. Derwa. Her husband is in trouble. ”

“What sort of trouble?”

“At the mine. Mr. Thornfield forced him to sign a paper admittin’ to something he didn’t do.”

“Then why did he sign?”

Tears filled her soft blue eyes. “He… he couldn’t read, milady.” She took a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her cheeks. “Ruby’s my cousin and she thought ye’d be able t’help.”

“Ruby?”

“Verity. She’s the housekeeper at the Keep.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Meredith cleared her throat. “Do you have a copy of what he signed?”

“No, milady.”

Meredith glanced about their surroundings, giving herself a moment to think. “What is your son-in-law’s name?”

Her fear was palpable. “Bray Cardy.” Her trembling whisper was so low, Meredith had to lean in to hear.

Meredith clasped her hand over the older woman’s and spoke low, too. “Perhaps we should talk someplace less frequented. Is it possible for you to visit your cousin at the castle? Later. Tomorrow afternoon?”

With a sharp nod, Mrs. Thims rose and went to the door. The door flew back, nearly knocking her over, and Basil Thornfield entered.

“Oh, my pardons, Mrs. Thims,” he said with a condescending curl of his thin lips. He held the door for her, and she skirted past him with her head down. The conceited brute didn’t even notice. “Ah, Lady Perlsea.” He strode in Meredith’s direction and sat down without so much as an invitation.

With a haughty look down the bridge of her nose, she donned Papa’s most pompous facade for her own. “Please, feel free to join me, Mr. Thornfield.”

To her greatest satisfaction, two red flags dotted his sallow cheeks. “Er, thank you, madam.” Of course, it never took such an insufferable prig long to overcome their discomfort.

The Widow Elspeth appeared at the tableside. “Would you care for more tea, Lady Perlsea?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Trelawney. I shan’t be staying much longer.”

She started to walk away, but Mr. Thornfield stopped her. “I’ll gladly take a pot, m’dear.”

Mrs. Trelawney visibly bristled at the too-familiar address, only nodding, then gliding away.

Meredith gathered her gloves and reticule. “As I said, I must be on my way, sir.”

Disappointment, then irritation, fleeted his narrow features. “I have information regarding the matter of your steward we spoke of.”

A conversation which had taken place over three months prior. She’d hoped he’d forgotten. She didn’t trust the man as far as she could toss him.

“I fear Mr. Underhill has been detained for an indeterminate time. However, I would be honored to step in and assist you until he has arrived to take up his duties.”

“That won’t be nec—”

“Surely, you don’t wish to be bogged down with the mundane duties of household accounts and the hiring of servants. Such tasks require a firm hand.” His presumptions outweighed his audacity, momentarily stealing her ability to respond.

“I’m sorry?”

“With my position in handling the mines, I’ve vast experience in these matters.”

She gave her own condescending smile, recalling Mrs. Verity’s assertions regarding Mr. Thornfield. How he ran the mines with an iron fist. She disliked the images that thought brought forth. “I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you, Mr. Thornfield.”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said firmly. “I’ve someone—”

“I can begin right away,” he interrupted.

A familiar tightness banded her chest. “No.” She slapped her hand on the table, causing her delicate cup to jump.

Startled, his gaze flew to hers.

She smiled again. “As I was saying. I’ve already someone in mind.”

“B-but,” he sputtered, “I’ve corresponded with the duke and he’s approved my suggestion.”

Meredith clucked her tongue. “Oh, that is a shame, Mr. Thornfield, but my father does not rule my household.” She rose from the table and adjusted her bonnet. “Thank you for your concerns.”

He reached for her arm but Meredith stepped back. “But—”

“Lady Perlsea?”

Meredith turned and looked up and up and up to the tall man who’d entered the shop earlier. “I’m Mr. Ashcroft.”

“Yes?”

“The steward you were expecting, ma’am.”

Meredith’s smile froze on her face. It seemed every eye and ear in The Copper Kettle was trained on her, Mr. Thornfield, and now this Mr. Ashcroft.

Mischievousness sparked his expression. As if he held in his mirth with some effort.

Compared to Mr. Thornfield, however, he appeared the lesser evil of the two.

“Of course, Mr. Ashcroft. I’ve been expecting you.

Come along.” She turned to Mr. Thornfield. “Good day, sir.”

The rendezvous with Mrs. Thims never took place. Mr. Cardy’s position as a hewer had turned out to be a fatal one. The winch he’d been operating to lift a heavy load of rocks had snapped, burying him beneath falling debris, crushing him instantly.