"The babe?" Incredulous, Corisande glanced from him to the adjoining bedroom where Peggy lay cradling a tiny swaddled bundle in the crook of her arm. "Oh, Morton, the babe?"
"Ais, indeed, our first little girl. I think my Peggy wants to name her Corie Olivia, too, after all the excitement 'ee an' your going to help Oliver Trelawny brought to our house. What do you think?"
Corisande was speechless, both elated and chagrined. She threw off her cloak and ran into the bedroom, her terrifying ride all but forgotten as she dropped to her knees beside the bed. "Ah, Peggy, is she all right? She's come too soon, hasn't she? Oh, Lord, I'm so sorry-"
"Hush now, Corie, everything's fine. She's only a few days early, and my Morton knew just what to do, no trouble at all, thanks to him watchen 'ee the last time with our Jimmie. Isn't that right, Morton?"
Corisande glanced over her shoulder, the young tinner's face split from ear to ear in a proud grin that nonetheless held a good bit of amazement at himself too.
"Ais, so I did, so I did. An' now you've something to show Lord Donovan when he comes to take you home, eh, Corie?"
Corisande could but shake her head, grinning from ear to ear, too, as Peggy invited her to sit upon the bed so she could welcome the newest Robberts.
Chapter 23.
Corisande fluttered open her eyes as the thin wail of a babe started her awake.
For a confused moment, she stared at the rough hand-hewn timbers some four feet above her head, unsure of her whereabouts until another wail carried to her from below, the fretful cry of a newborn. At once the previous night's events came flooding back to her, but she didn't move. She was too sore. Instead she turned her head and smiled softly at the two young boys still sound asleep in the crude crib next to her mattress, Jimmie Robberts, all of one, his tiny thumb resting near his puckered mouth, and his three-year-old brother, Morton, who shared his father's name, freckles, and bright russet hair.
Such beautiful children, and now they had a new little sister too. Corie Olivia. Corisande still couldn't believe it. She never would have forgiven herself if anything terrible had happened, but fortunately all was well.
Except that her body felt stiff as a board, she groaned to herself, especially her legs. She wondered how she was ever going to get down out of the loft. She barely remembered climbing up here, she'd been so exhausted, and that couldn't have been more than a few hours ago. She'd fallen asleep almost at the moment her head had touched the straw-filled mattress, slumbering as soundly as if she'd been lying on the softest goose down. She could have slept longer too. Ah, well. Maybe if she closed her eyes . . .
"Ais, 'tes a fine, fine thing 'ee did for us, milord. I've been meaning to say something to you-I've seen 'ee nearly every day at the mine but I s'pose this is as good a time as any. I was one of the tinners 'ee spoke to that first morning 'ee came to Arundale's Kitchen with Mr. Gilbert. It was just after dawn, an' I'd hiked in t' work my core. Might you remember me?"
"Yes, I do. It was very brave of you to come forward when most of the other men held back. Very brave."
Corisande stiffened, her eyes flaring wide.
Donovan was here already? Then again, she had no idea what time it was-it could be almost noon for all she knew. And what was Morton saying to him about Arundale's Kitchen? She raised herself on her elbows to peep into the room below but she saw no one, realizing that the voices were carrying to her from a small chink in the wall just above her head.
"It wasn't bravery, milord, but fear for my dear Peggy and my children that made me speak out. We hardly had bread on the table as it was, an' then for Cap'en Pascoe to cut our wages, I didn't know what to do. I gave my food to Peggy for the babe-she was so sickly there for a time, I thought I might lose them both. 'Course Corie-forgive me, milord, Lady Donovan-tried to ease our way, bringing what she could to help us, God bless her, but it wasn't just us suffering but all the tinners and their families. Until 'ee came that morning, milord. I could tell just from talking with 'ee that things were going to get better."
"You've my wife to thank for that, Morton."
"Ais, milord, I know, but I was watching 'ee with Cap'en Pascoe. I saw 'ee talkers to him alone before I went down the shaft an' I saw his face when he stormed away. He said nothing to any of us, but we knew, milord, we knew something grand had happened. He just disappeared with no word at all, an' we had no mine cap'en until Mr. Gilbert came back later and hired Jonathan Knill to the job. An' then when we heard our wages were doubled an' grain coming on Monday-"
"I said you've Lady Donovan to thank, man."
"Ais, maybe so, but I've you to thank, too, milord. You're a good, honorable man, Lord Donovan, I'll tell it to anyone who asks me, I will! An' when we heard 'ee were marrying our Corie Easton, all of us tinners couldn't have been more pleased that she'd found a man with compassion and charity enough to match her."
Compassion and charity enough to match her? Incredulous, Corisande was even more astonished as Morton's voice suddenly became choked with tears.
"I don't know how to thank 'ee, milord. I've a sweet new babe inside the house, a little girl, an' my Peggy-God help me, for a time I feared she wouldn't have the strength to push the child from her body or live herself to see that day. . .
Corisande wiped at her eyes as Morton grew silent, knowing well the terrible anguish he must have suffered. She'd seen it throughout the entire parish, seen it on so many faces, seen the desperation in so many eyes, heard it in so many voices-until Lord Donovan Trent had come to Cornwall, yes, that couldn't be denied. That is, until she'd made her devil's agreement with him; it was pitiful to hear how poor Morton had been fooled. If the tinner only knew . . .
"Let's go see your new daughter, man, not stand out here." Donovan's deep voice carried into the loft, filled with emotion Corisande had never heard before. Except, wait . . . she had heard it before-in the stable after they had left the poorhouse that Sunday and Donovan had called her a shrew. She'd been railing at him about holding little Mary- Corisande gasped as the cottage door swung open, and she fell back onto the mattress, pulling the woolen blanket up over her nose to lie there still as a stone. But a soft chortle made her look at the crib, little Morton Robberts plopping onto his back, too, and pulling his blanket over his head while Jimmie stared at her with a bemused smile and sucked his thumb. Noisily.
Oh, Lord.
She knew she was lost when young Morton began to laugh, sweet, husky laughter that made her smile in spite of herself, the little boy taking great delight in raising himself up only to fall back again, tugging the blanket over his head as he played his newfound game. Corisande couldn't help it. She sat up and then dropped back to the mattress, disappearing underneath the blanket for only an instant before she yanked the cover from her head and blurted out, "Boo!"
Little Morton shrieked, Jimmie giggled, and she laughed, too, leaving the mattress on all fours, albeit stiffly, to crawl to the crib. She couldn't stand up anyway-the thatched roof was too low-so she went right up to the wooden rungs, stalking the boys like a tiger while Jimmie's blue eyes grew round, and little Morton scrambled, squealing, to the far side of the crib.
"Having fun?"
Corisande froze, unable to see Donovan for the hair covering her flushed face. "Yes, actually, I am," she said with less embarrassment than she might have imagined, although she did feel a mite ridiculous being caught crawling about on her hands and knees. She tossed back her head to get the hair out of her eyes, her gaze meeting Donovan's.
He was smiling at her from the ladder, a warm, easy smile that made her heart jump. She hadn't seen him smile in so long-which immediately made her suspicious. But then again, it made sense, considering last night he had said he wanted a truce, even apologizing to her, and of course she knew why he'd done that. God forbid that he threaten his inheritance . . .
"I was just coming in to see the Robbertses' new babe. A girl, Morton told me."
"Yes, she's beautiful." Corisande held on to the crib as she rose into a hunched position, careful lest she knock her head on the low timber beams. At once little Morton held out his arms to her, demanding, "Out! Out!"
"Here, give him to me."
Corisande obliged, wincing at the soreness of her body as she picked up the little boy and handed him to Donovan, who then disappeared down the ladder. She followed suit with Jimmie, glad that Donovan reappeared to take this child too. Then it was her turn, her legs so wooden that she feared she might fall as she swung out onto the ladder until she felt Donovan's strong hands encircle her waist to lift her down. Her face burning, she said nothing, relieved when her feet touched the packed dirt floor and he released her.
"Th-thank you. I'm rather stiff this morning-"
"I'm not surprised," he broke in, the smile still upon his face although now it didn't quite reach his dark eyes. "After your being thrown from a horse, of course. And helping a babe into the world can be no easy thing."
Corisande didn't reply, suddenly feeling quite uncomfortable as her gaze shifted to where Morton already sat beside his wife, their two young sons clamoring to see their new sister. Morton and Peggy looked uncomfortable, too, the deception behind last night obviously at that moment lying heavily upon them-which made Corisande decide that she and Donovan would not be staying long. Leading the way into the little bedroom, she quickly stepped aside so Donovan could approach the bed.
"She is beautiful," he murmured when Peggy held the mewling child out to him and he settled the babe into the crook of his arm.
Again Corisande was struck as she had been days ago at the poorhouse by the incongruous sight: as big and powerful-looking a man as Donovan Trent holding a tiny infant who had begun to cry piteously from almost the moment she left her mother's arms. But instead of becoming nonplussed, he began to jounce the baby gently, a tender smile appearing on his handsome face that tugged like a pain at Corisande's heart, making her wonder how things might be if Donovan were more like the man he appeared, right now, to be . . .
"Have you named her yet?"
"Corie Olivia, milord." Morton coughed to clear his throat. "After Lady Donovan, of course, for coming to help us an' . . . an' after my wife's mother."
Donovan nodded and handed the baby back to Peggy without saying more.
Corisande grew nervous at the awkward silence that had suddenly settled over the room but for the two little boys playing on the floor. "I-I think we should go. But if you need anything, Peggy, anything at all, you've only to send Morton to let me know."
"That I will, Corie, an' thank 'ee again."
Corisande scarcely heard her; she'd already left the bedroom and gone to grab her cloak from a peg near the hearth. But she didn't bother to put it on as the bright sunlight streaming inside the front door told her the day was warm. She ducked outside gratefully-for heaven's sake, what had come over her in there?-Donovan following hard on her heels.
"Funny, you don't seem very stiff anymore, wife. Helping with Corie Olivia must not have been so difficult for you after all."
Donovan wasn't surprised that Corisande had spun to gape at him, his sarcastic tone hardly what he had intended. But he was angry, dammit, furious. He had told himself a hundred times while coming to fetch her that he would be able to contend with the ruse, the lies. That what Corisande had done last night was her own business! But now he felt like grabbing her and shaking her hard.
He'd already come close when he'd seen the trouble she was having on the ladder. Good God, he'd be sore, too, if he'd done half of what he had seen her accomplish on that beach. Corisande had probably given no heed to the danger she faced if any customs officers had been on the prowl. Probably given little thought, either, to the brutal attack only an hour before, when she should have been indoors and safe. And that was the whole bloody problem! When was the damned woman going to think of herself before putting everyone else first?
"I'll get the horses."
He brushed past her, knowing she was staring after him and no doubt wondering what had brought on his latest foul mood. But let her think what she would. Hell and damnation, what could be worse than what she thought of him already? A heartless cad, a despoiler of innocent women, a gambler, a murderer? Which made it all the more ridiculous that he should be so concerned about her, but he was, God help him, he was. More than he could have ever thought possible.
"Bloody fool," Donovan muttered to himself as he untethered Samson and then went to Pete, who nudged him with a velvety nose. He'd found the animal still saddled and grazing free some hundred yards away; Corisande obviously had been so frightened after she'd been followed back to the cottage that she hadn't thought to see to the horse.
But Donovan had wanted to frighten her, so badly that she wouldn't dare set foot outside again until he came for her. He'd almost believed her clever story about the Robbertses, probably would have, too, if he hadn't overheard everything from outside the door. Chasing her from that cove was the least she deserved for lying to him, although the babe coming after all had been a surprise. But when he'd set out after Corisande last night, no idea where she was bound, only to discover incredibly that she was involved in smuggling- "I can manage from here, thank you very much!"
As she snatched Pete's reins from his hand, Donovan watched grimly as Corisande hoisted herself onto the big gelding, grimacing in discomfort.
"I could have helped you, Corie."
"I don't need your help," she snapped as she veered the horse around, "and as for your sarcasm, my lord, though I've no idea what you were implying, it's clear that the truce you spoke of last night was very short-lived. I'll see you back at the house."
She kicked Pete into a gallop and was gone, leaving Donovan to mount Samson with a low curse and ride after her. But he didn't have to push his stallion very hard; Corisande had slowed Pete to a walk within moments, which didn't surprise him, given how she'd winced in pain just in mounting. He caught up with her easily, but she didn't look at him, lifting her chin and keeping her face forward as if he weren't even there.
"I wasn't implying anything, Corie. I'm sorry," he said, having no intention of revealing that he knew about her smuggling. Why upset her further? He would only be a part of her life for a very short time longer, and he'd do bloody well to remember that fact. "And the truce-"
"The devil take your truce, Donovan! Act however you wish, pleasant, unpleasant, it makes no difference to me. If you're worried about your money, don't be. I'm not going to threaten our agreement just because you're absolutely the most insufferable man I've ever known."
"Ah, I'm insufferable now? Well, at least you didn't say loathsome. I never liked being called loathsome."
Chapter 24.
Corisande glanced at Donovan, astonished at the wry smile on his face. Lord, she would never understand the man! One moment sarcastic, the next apologizing, the next making jokes and smiling. But she didn't want to understand him. She wished she wasn't riding with him either. If she wasn't so bloody sore, she could have made it to the house without having to say another word . . .
"Corie Olivia Robberts. You must be honored."
"I am," she said stiffly, facing front again.
"At least it's something interesting to write about-to your friend Lindsay, I mean. A letter came from her just as I was about to leave this morning-"
"A letter from Lindsay?" Corisande had drawn up sharply on the reins, coming to a halt as Donovan reined in Samson too. He reached into his dark blue riding coat and drew out the letter, a black brow raised as he handed it to her.
"Addressed to Lady Donovan Trent, no less. News travels fast."
"She . . . she must have seen the wedding announcement in the papers." Not liking that she was feeling quite uncomfortable again, Corisande clutched the thick packet in her hand. "And I'm sure Lady Somerset wasted little time in writing to her. The woman has a nose for what's happening in the parish nearly as keen as Rose Polkinghorne's."
"Yes, a letter came from Lady Somerset too. An invitation to dinner, actually, which I accepted. I'm surprised she gave us this long-unless, of course, you've other plans for tonight? Someone else with a pregnant wife coming to throw stones at your window?"
"No, no other plans," Corisande murmured, not liking the way Donovan was looking at her. Grateful that the Robbertses' baby had come-it would have been impossible to try to explain a false alarm to him-she glanced down at the letter, her fingers itching to break the rose-red seat. But she nudged Pete back into a walk instead, deciding it would be better to wait until she was alone. God knows what Lindsay had to say, considering she knew everything "Aren't you going to read it?"
Corisande started, flushing to the roots of her hair as Donovan caught up with her, Samson matching Pete's slow stride. "No, I think I'll wait-"
"Not on my account, I hope. I won't look, if that's what concerns you, Corie. There isn't anything new about London that Lindsay could tell me anyway. Go on, enjoy your letter."
She gulped, but her curiosity was overwhelming. Perhaps Lindsay had some more funny stories for her. She could use some levity right now. Anything to take her mind off the man who was dogging her like a shadow just as he'd promised last night.
If not for that reason, she might have suggested he ride on ahead, but that was as likely to happen as Napoleon to surrender. So she broke the seal and opened the letter, the sunshine so bright that she tilted the cream-colored paper to one side, away from Donovan, and began to read.
Oh, Corie, where to start? I received your incredible letter, and I could hardly believe it! To think you're married! And to a Trent of Arundale! Of course, I know you said it's only temporary, but I must tell you of the most startling things- "How is she?"
Corisande started, looking up to find Donovan staring at her. "Who?"
"Lindsay, of course. She's well?"
"Yes, yes, but I haven't read very far," Corisande said with exasperation, clearly enough that Donovan waved her back to her letter, which irked her. She didn't need his permission! Taking care to grip the reins tightly enough so Pete wouldn't begin to wander aimlessly, she settled back with an irritated exhalation to her letter. . .
. . . but I must tell you of the most startling things. I had already written you a letter in answer to the one with your astounding news, but I was so busy-Aunt Winnie hasn't given me a moment's peace, she's so determined to follow Olympia's every last instruction to the letter, dragging me to dressmakers and out shopping and then in the evenings-oh, dear, Corie, I'm losing my train of thought. Anyway, I had no chance to mail my first letter, which was a very good thing. All I knew of Lord Donovan Trent was what you told me in your letter, and of course, since it was a secret, I couldn't ask anyone about the dratted man. At least I thought him dratted at the time. But back to the topic. The moment your wedding announcement appeared in the papers-truly, I've never heard such a stir! Everyone was talking about it, well, about your husband anyway. I went to a ball that very night, and the entire place was abuzz- "Is Lindsay having a good time?"
Corisande must have jumped, for Pete suddenly pranced to the side, nearly making her lose her seat. This time it was Donovan who caught the reins, and Corisande glared at him as he brought the gelding under control.
"I thought you wanted me to enjoy my letter!"
"I do-"
"Then please don't interrupt me, Donovan."
Especially not now, Corisande thought somewhat nervously as he shrugged his massive shoulders and looked away. Good Lord, if he knew the letter was about him . . . and where was her place anyway? Oh, yes.
. . . went to a ball that very night, and the entire place was abuzz. All the eligible young ladies and their mamas were terribly disappointed to hear that Lord Donovan had wed, and everyone, of course, was wondering about you, Corie, but that wasn't the most extraordinary thing. Somehow I came upon a conversation between some young gentlemen who knew Lord Donovan well and spoke of him quite fondly. They couldn't believe he'd wed either, because Lord Donovan had sworn years ago that he would never marry. It seems his parents had a terrible marriage, a dreadful arranged affair-Lord, they painted his father the Duke of Arundale as an absolute monster, and of course we already know that to be true from Arundale Kitchen. His poor mother ran off with an Italian count, Corie, can you believe that?
Anyway, according to these gentlemen, it seems Lord Donovan had defied his father for years in so many ways, disgusted by the man-hating him even-and determined to be anything but like him. He was forever giving away his money to beggars, prostitutes, and countless charities though he would tell his father he'd lost it all to gambling just to get some more he could give away. That made the gentlemen laugh and laugh, Corie, because Lord Donovan had never once been known to gamble since his father had loved it so.
Corisande lifted her eyes from the letter, suddenly feeling quite unsettled as she glanced at Donovan. But he wasn't looking at her, the man leaving her alone just as she'd sharply bid him. Her heart beginning to pound, she focused once more on the page, feeling almost as if she didn't want to continue, but unable not to.
They went on and on, Corie, recalling how Lord Donovan's father had tried to force him into a marriage four years ago, but he'd left Britain to fight under Wellington. One of the men, Freddy, they called him, said Lord Donovan had tried to talk him out of marrying for money just before he left and how Freddy wished he'd listened, his life a bloody mess. They laughed, but it wasn't funny, Corie, all of them wondering what could have made Donovan finally take a bride. Another gentleman guessed it might have something to do with his inheritance, but they couldn't see Lord Donovan caring a whit about money-he never had before-which made them say then that maybe he had simply fallen in love.
"She's written quite a letter, hasn't she?"
"What?" Startled, Corisande met Donovan's eyes, her heart fairly thundering.
"The letter. It's long, several pages."
"Y-yes, it is long. It's Lindsay's first Season-it's all so new to her. Balls, shopping-"
"Hunting for the wealthiest gentleman she can find to marry. The loftiest title."
Corisande heard the sudden bitterness, something she might have missed before. But now . . . "No, you're wrong, Lindsay's not like that at all," she said vehemently. "Lindsay's different. She doesn't care about those things. That's why I admire her so much."