Page 6 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

St. Petroc’s Church

The Vestry Hall

M eredith entered the church with Mr. Ashcroft and with a keen sense of satisfaction rippling through her.

Along with reading and arithmetic, in the last year or so she’d introduced subjects of other interests that included music and watercolor painting.

The children’s ages ranged from five to twelve, at which time many began their work at the mines.

She’d done her utmost, appealing to Mr. Thornfield to push back on putting the children to work at such a young age.

All to no avail.

The man was a cruel taskmaster. In the three years since she’d been in Penhalwick she’d seen more than a few injuries as the mines ran all hours of the day and night.

She didn’t know the specifics, but she’d seen firsthand the havoc it wreaked on the families.

Elowen’s mother, Anwen worked as a Bal Maiden.

The work was grueling—breaking, sorting, and cleaning the ore, readying it for transport—and was paid considerably less than the men.

Meredith had offered Anwen a position at the Keep, but she was superstitious in the sense that if she wasn’t near her husband he would perish beneath the ground. In other words, she believed she was of sorts his guardian angel.

Mr. Ashcroft’s and Meredith’s steps echoed through the church halls as they made their way to the makeshift schoolroom. Miss Carroway was already leading the children in their morning ritual of the opening hymn.

“I thought to offer Miss Coldwater, Elowen, a position at the Keep,” Meredith said.

He flashed a smile in her direction. “I was wondering when you might get around to that. In what position? Your secretary?”

Heat infused her face. It was exactly what she’d been thinking. “What of it? She would make a perfectly acceptable assistant.”

“No reason,” he said. They reached the door, and he peered in, then spoke barely above a whisper. “No Tommy Trenwith this morning. That child is trouble. You mark my words.”

Meredith’s lips firmed. “That’s the third time this week,” she bit out in a responding whisper.

“Some children are just not cut out for the schoolroom.”

“He’s only ten. I had an agreement with his mother.” She spun on her heel. “If she refuses to make him attend, then the extra I’m paying her shall cease at once. You mark that in your ledgers, sir.” She escaped Vestry Hall through a side door and marched to the stables for her carriage.

“Lady Perlsea, I m-mean Lady P-Pender.” The stableman, Jago, tended to stutter when she appeared. For whatever reason, she turned the gruff old man into a mass of nerves even after three years.

“I must speak with Mrs. Trenwith,” she said grimly.

“Ye drivin’ yerself?” The shock in his voice had a sharp burst of laughter erupting from her.

“I’m not helpless.”

“Er, o’ course n-not, yer ladyship.” He handed her up to the driver’s seat.

“Thank you, Jago. I’ll return soon.”

The run out to the Trenwiths’ was less fruitful.

Mrs. Trenwith was there and her wrath spelled trouble for the ten-year-old truant.

“I tol’ him time and again. Why, I’ll whip him into a frenzy.

It’s that Thornfield. He don’ care none.

He tol’ Samuel ain’t no need for educatin’ when Tommy’s jes’ destined for the mines. ”

“Oh, he did, did he? We’ll just see about that.

” Meredith had just about had it with Basil Thornfield’s interference when it came to educating the children.

She’d relinquished her arguments on the long hours for the miners, but she refused to let him dictate Meredith’s agreement regarding the children’s ability to read and basic mathematic skills necessary to bettering their futures. Especially for a child of only ten.

She snapped the reins a little harder than intended and sent the team jerking into motion. It took less than ten minutes to reach the mine’s office, a building constructed of rough-hewn stone.

Like many of the homes in the area, the structure was designed to withstand Cornwall’s harsh weather conditions. It was relatively modest in size. The single-story building was topped by a slightly pitched slate roof designed to drain rainwater more efficiently.

Meredith jumped from the box to the ground, jarring her teeth.

She stormed the entrance to the office marked by a heavy oak door, darkened with age.

Iron bands reinforced the door, giving it not just a formidable appearance but also a conveyance of secrets.

Shuddering, she reached for the iron lever and pressed—

A low rumble, like thunder, shook the wooden planks on which she stood.

The handle vibrated beneath her fingers.

Unease slithered through her and the sound reverberated, seeming to echo against the hills.

She dropped her hand and stepped from beneath the portico to glance at a darkening gray sky.

Heavy clouds hung low. Yet no lightning streaked the sky, though a drop of rain hit her nose.

A loud boom pierced the air, and she ducked. England was under attack . But her thoughts shook loose, and common sense returned—

The mine . Meredith didn’t hesitate. She ran for the opening where all chaos had broken out.

Inside, screams bounded against the stone walls, raising the hair on her nape. Dust billowed out from a shaft to her left.

“Rocks. Move the rocks. Hurry .”

She couldn’t discern who bellowed out the commands, but men and women, even children, ran for that section.

Meredith’s hand shot out and she snagged a soot-faced Anwen. “What is it?” she demanded.

“One of the child’en,” she huffed out. “They ran into the unused shaft.”

Meredith, unheedful of her own safety, dashed after her.

Samuel Trenwith’s muscles bulged with sheer strength, tearing through the fallen debris. Women stood on the peripherals holding oil lamps and candles, but Meredith could barely see through the thick dust.

“A beam fell,” Samuel yelled. “I ’ear ’im. ’ang on, boy, ’ang—” His voice cut as if he’d entered the church. “God in ’eav’n,” he breathed and tore through the pile of rocks with herculean force.

*

“Never” hadn’t turn out to be quite as long as one would like.

It had been three years since Lucius Oshea’s—Viscount Perlsea, and now the current Earl of Pender—nuptials to the Duke of Rathbourne’s daughter.

Lucius had rarely thought of his bride since leaving her in the care of the Veritys three years ago.

He didn’t bother recalling her name. A minor detail.

In the event he was required to address her…

well, he would deal with that when the time came.

His fury hadn’t subsided one iota since having left Northumberland.

The ride from Northumberland to Cornwall was hellish.

He hadn’t bothered with the train, instead deciding the hard ride would do him good.

His arse ached. It wouldn’t be easy to demand an annulment.

The whole ride south he’d been plagued with doubts.

The picture of his young wife kept floating through his mind.

How terrified she must have been when he tore out of Cornwall without a backward look.

The castle itself had been in horrid disrepair, and he hadn’t given a second thought to it since. She’d never written a second note to the one Lucius had secreted away.

Looking back, it was a wonder the duke hadn’t called Lucius out for deserting her as he had. Then, again…

The closer he drew to Penhalwick and Perlsea Keep, the more agitated he became. The steed beneath him reflected his mood.

He glanced up at the darkening sky. The Cornish weather wasn’t any more pleasant than that of Northumberland. Warmer perhaps. He was another few hour’s ride from the Keep and a storm was brewing. Well, so be it.

He was ready to unleash the ire that simmered just under the surface of his skin, and he let it flow.

Like during the midst of a pre-drink gathering for his father’s funeral, how the Duke of Rathbourne had announced to all and sundry that Lucius’s wife was with child.

It made no sense for his wife to announce an illicit expectancy.

Even someone as young and na?ve as his wife should realize the danger of bandying such tales about.

The revelation had been stunning to Lucius since she and he had never consummated their forced marriage.

The stranglehold on Lucius was asphyxiating.

He’d never been close to his father. From the time Lucius and Noah were children, it was their Uncle Lysander to whom they’d turned.

The control Lucius had thought he’d wielded over his own life had turned out to be nothing short of farcical.

His and Miss Docia Hale’s romance had blossomed.

Their dreams to marry shattered when Lucius one afternoon in London had happened upon his father, the Earl of Pender and the Duke of Rathbourne sharing a bottle of port.

The ring Lucius had purchased for his future bride burned a hole in his waistcoat pocket.

White’s bustled with activity considering the thick carpets beneath his feet.

There was a quiet efficiency about the hall as Lucius made his way to an intimate room with a fire blazing in the large hearth at one end.

He would miss the quiet nights here once he and Docia married.

She loved the spotlight, but she always feared being away from Chaston Manor long in the event her missing father returned unexpectedly.

“Ah, Perlsea. If it isn’t my long-lost heir.”

Lucius glanced up and saw his father seated in one of three winged-backed chairs before the fire. “Hello, Father.” In another, sat the smug Duke of Rathbourne. Theirs was an odd pairing Lucius hadn’t thought to encounter. His father was sloshed. Not an unusual state by any means.

“What brings you here?”

A glass of brandy was poured and handed to Lucius. “I’ve news,” he said, unable to keep the grin from his face.

His father nodded. “You’re in love.”

“I’ve just purchased the ring.”

“And who might the lucky chit be?” the duke inquired. But his nonchalance set Lucius’s teeth on edge.

“Viscount Chaston’s daughter, Miss Docia Hale.” Pride filled Lucius at just saying her name.

A roar of laughter shook the duke while the earl just shook his head, a small bitter smile creasing his face.

“’Tis good you have the ring, son,” Rathbourne said. “But I’m afraid you have the wrong bride in mind.”

With an indignant huff, Lucius threw back the entirety of his brandy and slammed the glass on a low table between them and stood. He glared at his father. “I should have known you couldn’t be happy for me.”

“There’s much you don’t know about me,” the earl responded. “Nor about yourself, it appears. I’ve been remiss in keeping you apprised.”

A chill stole up Lucius’s spine then gripped him about the throat. His feet had grown roots in the span of seconds.

“My dearest heir, I suppose I’d forgotten to mention the fact you’re already betrothed.”

“Oh?” Lucius spoke through a clenched jaw. “I believe I would remember something of that nature.”

The duke narrowed his beady eyes on him. “Don’t see why,” he said. “You were thirteen when the betrothal agreements were signed. To the joy of my life, my daughter—” The rest of his words were drowned out by the blood rushing Lucius’s ears.

A mile or so outside Penhalwick a large explosion echoed in the hills, startling him from the awful memories. Lucius put his head down and urged his mount faster.

He breached the hills under darkening skies that finally had their fill and let loose, unleashing their tears in winded fury, tearing at his coat.

The sight before him was an uproar of traffic.

Droves of folk unmindful of the slashing rain, heading in the direction of the mines.

He paused a moment then turned his horse to follow.

Crowds gathered outside the mine’s opening.

A woman from the back shoved her way through the throng screaming.

It took a moment to discern any sense of her incoherence.

But she reached the epicenter screeching, “Tommy. Tommy. Tommy.” She threw herself on the ground next to a woman whose face was streaked black.

Her fine bonnet was an incongruous spot of color. Her frock was soaked by rain. She lifted a pain-filled face to the distraught woman. The rain washed some of the muddied soot away, exposing a fine-boned profile. Familiar profile. Her eyes found his over the gathering cluster.

Moss-green eyes he hadn’t seen in three years.