Go to her.The command was instant, undeniable.
Then, Chev saw his son.
“Her ladyship said to stop the music,” Thaddeus spoke in a low, controlled rage.
“What I’ve said is true,” Anthony replied. “You and your mother are not the only ones here who have suffered a loss.” Anthony raised a brow. “Do you seek to challenge me?”
“I seek,” Thaddeus said with quiet authority, “to rule my house.”
Thaddeus placed his arm around his mother’s shoulders and then led her from the room.
Chev gazed after them, an unexpected stinging in his long-dry eyes.
“Please disregard my cousins.” Anthony broke the silence. “The trial has placed Lady Cheverley at wit’s end, and young Thaddeus is quite at a loss. However, let us not allow her frailty to dampen this excellent tribute to the bravery of his lordship and the many others who have sacrificed so that we may someday live in peace.”
For a heartbeat, the room remained silent. Then, Sir Jerold pounded his cane upon the ground.
“Hear, Hear,” he said.
“Hear, Hear.” A smattering of guests replied.
There hadn’t been an ounce of surprise in Anthony’s reaction. No doubt, Anthony had anticipated Penelope’s tears.
There was more here than he understood. And he must stay until his questions were answered.
Melting back into the garden wall, Cheverley spit the foulness from his mouth.
Chapter Seven
CHEVERLEY THRUST THEstick he carried ahead of him and limped forward with shoulders hunched. The path to the village widened at the end of Pensteague land. Fields of low grass stretched out on either side, sloping down toward the hollow that sheltered fishermen’s cottages from the worst ravages of the sea.
With rough-spun dirty clothes that covered his muscle tone, he’d appear little different from the other men left in the village.
“I must hand it to you,” Emmaus’s well-worn boots dug into the gravel with a rhythm matching his sailor’s gait.
“Hand what to me?”
Emmaus flashed a sideways glance. “You look every inch a beggar, Captain.”
“Captain Smith,” Chev corrected. “I’m notyourcaptain.”
Emmaus stopped walking. “Not anymore you’re not.”
Chev stopped as well, not truly surprised. “How long have you known?”
“Since you turned a shade of violet when first I mentioned Anthony’s intention to wed your wife.”
Chev looked out to the horizon, leaning heavily on his stick. “Emmaus.”
The name was neither a request nor a reproach, but an invocation, as if Chev could somehow reach certainty on his friend’s integrity alone.
“I cannot tolerate your deception indefinitely. I expect you, at least, to pay me the courtesy of revealing your intent.”
“I should not have deceived you.” Chev squinted. “Trust I have my reasons, will you?”
“Do you think I would have gone along this far if I did not trust you?”
Chev shook his head no. Not Emmaus. Emmaus always did as conscience, not man, directed.
