Page 35

The Viscount took another gulp from his glass amid a rumble of agreement from the men seated near him. He didn’t seem to notice her watching him and her dawning dismay increased as he went on.

‘The people down in Hayworth want everything handed to them on a plate: a house, a job, even the food they stuff into their ungrateful mouths… My father was too soft on them and now I’m paying the price.’

His friends grunted and grumbled, one or two of them also appearing a little worse for wear. A few of the ladies looked disapproving, her charitable new friends among them, but Anthony’s cronies nodded along as if he was being entirely reasonable. Evidently his viewpoint was a popular one in some circles, and she felt a glimmer of anger as the man beside him thumped the table top supportively.

‘Got to teach them their place, Fernley. They need to understand it’s not them who makes the rules.’

‘Exactly.’ Anthony gestured triumphantly with his wine glass. ‘The fuss they made when I enclosed the estate was outrageous. You’d think they had more rights here than I do to hear them complain, and then they have the nerve to try to poach my game—’

‘I’m not sure that’s true, my lord.’

To her surprise and horror, Meg heard herself speak. She hadn’t intended to; her mouth moved without her permission, however, and even as the words escaped she knew there was no taking them back.

Every eye turned to her. Beside her she felt Jacob sit up straighter, clearly holding himself ready to intervene, but when Anthony turned the full force of his unwanted attention on her she felt compelled to carry on.

Her voice wasn’t entirely steady. ‘From what I’ve heard, the lower classes just want the opportunity to live off the same land their families have for hundreds of years,’ she ventured, wishing at least a few of her fellow guests would return to their own conversations instead of listening to her. ‘Given the chance, I understand they would much prefer to grow their own food instead of being forced into stealing it for lack of a plot to farm.’

The man beside Anthony scoffed. ‘Do you know much about the peasant class, madam?’

She heard Jacob begin to say something but Meg didn’t rise to the bait. ‘More than some, I think, sir, although of course less than many.’

‘I know what I’m talking about.’

There was a ripple round the table as Anthony leaned forward. His eyes were like ice and Meg shivered at the hatred in them, the aversion there something he was hardly bothering to hide.

‘These people have been a plague on this estate ever since my many-times-great-grandfather’s day,’ he said, each word so bitingly civil it might as well have had teeth. ‘If I’m not firm with them, they’ll wreak havoc, and then where will that leave us?’

‘Anthony…’

Jacob’s tone held a warning everyone around the table would have heard. He sounded fully prepared to act on her behalf, and Meg knew it, but her gratitude didn’t stop her quiet reply.

‘There’s a difference between being firm and being cruel.’

‘How very true,’ Jacob rejoined forcefully, as if daring anyone to disagree. ‘My wife makes an excellent point.’

The Viscount’s face worked as he tried to hold back the rage she knew must be boiling inside him at being challenged so publicly, manifesting in a harsh bark of a laugh. ‘I treat thieves as they deserve. If that makes me cruel, then so be it.’

A few of his guests were starting to look uncomfortable and Meg herself felt her insides coil like a bag of snakes, now so disgusted she couldn’t hold back. ‘Surely you can’t mean that? Surely somewhere, perhaps deep down, you must care that you’re ruining so many lives—?’

‘Ladies!’

Isabella sliced through the mounting tension with the skill of a gifted swordsman, her swift rising to her feet forcing everyone else to follow suit. ‘I think the time has come for us to retire. Let’s leave the men to their port and politics, shall we?’

Meg had stood up along with all the others and she caught the scorching glare Anthony hurled at her when his guests’ attention was elsewhere. He looked ready to reach across the table and strike her, and only Jacob’s sentry-like presence allowed her to retain her sense of calm.

His whisper helped dim her fear. ‘Don’t worry. You did well. I’ll come to find you soon.’

She peered up at him hesitantly. He didn’t seem annoyed that she’d kicked the hornets’ nest; he looked wary and perhaps a little resigned, but even so he managed a reassuring smile as she unwillingly followed the other ladies from the room.

Her pulse still leaped as she let herself be guided towards the parlour. Many of the ladies shot her covert glances, a few catching her eye with clear admiration, although judging by Isabella’s sour expression she would rather have closed the door in Meg’s face than hold it open to let her file inside. The Viscountess was probably wondering what had come over Jacob’s mysterious bride for her to behave so unbecomingly—a question Meg had to ask herself.

Why did you do that? Why did you provoke him, knowing the danger?

At one time she would have been beside herself with terror at having courted Anthony’s wrath, but to her surprise her fear was a mere puddle rather than the sea she might have expected. Jacob had positioned himself steadfastly behind her, ready to charge in if the need arose, and his support was a far more precious gift than any expensive gown. It spoke of willingness to take her part no matter who was watching, a tower of strength she could lean against to weather any storm.

Entering the parlour, she prepared to take her seat, readying herself for another dose of Isabella’s unwanted company, but there was something far worse in store for her.

‘Mrs Fernley? A word, if I may.’