An hour later, they were on their way back to Tredennick. Within minutes, Charity fell asleep with her head on his shoulder.Facing them, the Reverend and Percy were like two book ends, snoring in concert, with Freddy curled up happily between them.
Looking down at his new fiancée, Jago smiled, tucking her cloak around her. Fortunately, her parcels had fitted into the compartments underneath the seats. Evidently, her father had paid heed to her declaration that she needed a new dress. He fought the urge to laugh out loud. Charity was unaware that he’d been privy to the conversation. Truly, he was looking forward to having many such sparring matches once they were wed.
After a while, inevitably, his thoughts turned to his father and the meeting he’d had with the solicitors earlier. Despite extensive enquires, old Mr Cuthbert had been unable to ascertain exactly what Morgan Carlyon had done with the three hundred pounds. The only thing he knew was the date the money had been taken from the bank. Two weeks before Genevieve’s death.
Jago’s inclination was to challenge his father about the money as soon as he got home but given that he was hoping to break the news of his intention to marry, any confrontation would have to wait. Wearily, Jago closed his eyes, just as the carriage lurched over a particularly deep pothole. Feeling his very bones rattle, his last thought before falling asleep was that Charity’s parcels were clearly much heavier than they’d looked.
∞∞∞
Charity stared with satisfaction at herself in the mirror. The dress she’d chosen in Falmouth was a pale oyster which she fancied suited her colouring. In a rich satin brocade, it hada daringly low décolleté, and flared directly underneath her bosom. In the absence of any kind of lady’s maid, Charity had simply tied her chestnut hair back using a matching ribbon as she was wont to do at home and draped the resulting wave over one shoulder. She and her twin were both fortunate enough to be in possession of natural curls that had long been the envy of their sisters, so the result was pleasing enough against the backdrop of her dress.
She had not seen Jago since their return from Falmouth and hoped that somehow he had persuaded his father to accept their engagement and mayhap even join them this evening. Then she thought back to the way the man had regarded her on the terrace and shivered. Somehow she doubted Morgan Carlyon would welcome her with open arms.
Still, she squared her shoulders and picked up her shawl. If Jago’s father thought to intimidate her into fleeing, he was in for a shock. Not one of her sisters had achieved wedded bliss without some kind of challenge, and if she was to follow in their footsteps, then so be it. The Master of Tredennick was about to discover that the Shackleford women were made of sterner stuff.
Draping the silky fabric over her shoulders, Charity caught sight of Stefan Petrock’s letters still sitting forlornly on the small table. In light of what Jago had told them the evening before, it appeared the man couldn’t bear to remain in Tredennick after the death of his love. Mayhap there were simply too many memories.
Picking up the bundle and placing them into her reticule, Charity resolved to return them to her father for disposal. Truly, she hoped the poor man had managed to find happiness elsewhere.
Snuffing out her candle and opening the door however, she suddenly reflected that they still had no explanation as to why Jago’s father was shamming about his disability and why he’d spent so long searching for Stefan’s letters.
Unless they hadn’t been what he was looking for at all.
Determinedly, Charity put all thoughts of conspiracies from her mind. They would do well to focus on the imminent demise of George Barnet. Once his daughter’s killer was behind bars, mayhap Morgan Carlyon would finally be able to truly put the past behind him and admit to his improved abilities.
Heading down the stairs, and crossing the entrance hall, she suddenly heard the sound of raised voices coming from the drawing room. Frowning, she paused. Almost certainly one of the voices belonged to Jago but she’d never heard the other man before. Her heart began to thud uncomfortably. There was only one person Jago would be arguing with.
Gritting her teeth, she marched determinedly towards the closed door, pausing only briefly to question whether she was being entirely totty-headed getting in between father and son. No, this was almost certainly about her. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her head and pushed open the door.
Both men turned in surprise. This was the first time Charity had been in the same room as Jago’s father, and the resemblance was even more striking than when she’d seen him on the stairs.
‘Is this her?’ he commented coldly.
‘This is my wife to be, yes,’ Jago responded, his voice equally wintery.
‘This may come as a surprise to you gentlemen, but I actually have a name,’ Charity snapped, shutting the door behind her.
There was a slight pause as Jago ran his hand across his brow. Then he sighed. ‘Please forgive my deplorable manners, love,’ he conceded with a bow. ‘It is the first time my father has visited the drawing room since … in some time. He is clearly suffering the ill effects of too much exertion.’ He turned to his stony-faced parent and continued, ‘Father, allow me to introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Charity Shackleford.’
Morgan Carlyon stared impassively at her for several endless, uneasy moments.
‘She’s passably pretty,’ he declared eventually, ‘but you must know there is more to a marriage than a tempting armful.’
‘Enough,’ Jago ground out, his anger a palpable thing. ‘If you find yourself unable to keep a civil tongue in your head, may I suggest you return to your bedchamber.’
Astonishingly, his father laughed, though there was no mirth in the sound. ‘You think she will settle here, so far from her family?’ he countered scathingly.
‘I am standing directly in front of you,’ Charity declared through gritted teeth, ‘and I can assure you Mr Carlyon that I am perfectly capable of answering for myself.’
At that moment, the door opened behind them to admit her father and Percy. The look on the Reverend’s face indicated he’d heard the altercation. Charity winced, closing her eyes, fully expecting him to give Jago’s father a strong dressing down. But to her surprise, her father walked forward and gave a small bow.
‘I am honoured to finally meet you, Sir,’ he declared, his voice oozing sincerity. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. Reverend Augustus Shackleford at your service. And this fellow behind me is my curate, Percy Noon. I see you have already met my daughter, Charity.’ He gave a small chuckle. ‘We also have a dog named Freddy who I’m entirely certain you will love once you get past the smell. Currently, he’s enjoying a bowl of excellent mutton broth with Mrs Penna in the kitchen.’
Charity stared at her father open mouthed, wondering if he’d somehow been possessed.
Unfortunately, the Reverend hadn’t finished. ‘I must offer my deepest thanks for allowing us to stay,’ he enthused, ‘and I can tell that Jago has shared with you the happy news.’ The clergyman held out his arms, a beatific smile on his face. ‘It seems we are to become family.’
Morgan Carlyon looked as though he wished for nothing better than to shove the Reverend’s words back down his blissful throat but could think of no way to do so.
