Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) (40 page)

Mrs. Camborne picked up the tray with pot and tea bowls and carried it into the dining room. Bettina placed the matching jug brimming with cream, and sugar basin on the long table.

“You really need a housekeeper. You can’t do it all alone.” Mrs. Camborne placed the sugar tongs in the basin. “What happened to Mrs. Pollard?”

“This is her day off. But I enjoy cooking when she is not here. I have a lady’s maid who likes to tidy and shop. Once a week a village girl comes up to do the heavy cleaning and laundry. Everett wanted to hire another maid, but we manage very well.” Bettina brought out rolls left over from yesterday. She touched one, hoping they weren’t too hard.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs. Camborne?” Oleba walked through with several sacks bundled in her arms.

“We are fine.” Bettina and Everett’s mother both glanced up at the title. “This is Mrs. Camborne, Mr. Camborne’s mother.”

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” Oleba nodded to the older woman and headed for the kitchen.

“Oh, my.” Mrs. Camborne followed her with a curious gaze. “You don’t see that often. And shouldn’t servants come through the kitchen door?”

“We are more casual here. She is my maid. Her name is Oleba.” Bettina sliced a rare lemon, the aroma bittersweet in the musty chamber.

“I bought cabbage, chardbeets, celery and onions, marjoram and parsley.” Oleba came back out. “That should go well with the eels, Mrs. Camborne.”

Frederick trampled down the stairs. “Aunt Bettina … oh.” He stared at the older woman. “Good afternoon.”

Mrs. Camborne stood and tears moistened her eyes. “So much like
… am I to assume this is my grandson Frederick, grown so tall?”

Bettina realized that the child and grandmother had only seen one another at Clare's funeral. Mrs. Camborne had fled the area when he was a baby.

“Yes, I’m the one.” The boy jabbed a thumb at his chest. Bettina almost perceived Hollis in that gesture, and winced.

“This is your grandmother, Frederick.” Bettina watched the boy shuffle his feet.

Mrs. Camborne bent over and touched his cheek. “So much like Clare … but also….”

Frederick backed up a step and dipped his head. “How do you do, Grandmother.”

Mrs. Camborne smiled. “We’ll have time to get to know one another, dear.”

“May I go out and play with Cadan?” Frederick looked to Bettina, eyes wide.

“Yes, but bundle up warm.” She didn’t want to force the boy to kiss a woman he didn’t remember. He nodded to them both and scampered off.

“He’s grown into a fine boy, despite his father. But we won’t speak of him.” Mrs. Camborne came back to the table and poured the tea. “I’ve missed out on so much that has happened. I've lived on St. Agnes since my husband died. I ran out on everybody, I'm afraid.” She blinked, her smile tremulous. “I wish
… my son and I had stayed close. I haven’t been a very good mother, you could say. I sent him a gold pocket watch for Christmas a couple of years ago. I don’t even know if he received it.”

Bettina remembered that watch, lying on Everett’s mantle piece in his bedroom, the day she snooped through his things. She had thought it from a paramour. She filled with sympathy for this woman. “I am certain Everett will be pleased you have come to visit.”

“Visit? No, dear, I’m here to stay.” Mrs. Camborne’s smile grew warmer.

Slate walked into the room just then. “Mrs. Camborne, how well you look.” He bowed politely, as usual registering little emotion. He continued into the kitchen.

“That grim old soul, he’ll outlive us all,” Mrs. Camborne whispered. “Never could understand why Sam kept him on.”

Oleba entered and set out some sliced bon-chretien pears that she’d sprinkled with brandy. Bettina excused the maid to tend to some mending upstairs. She listened to the manor creak in the wind and pondered Mrs. Camborne’s statement about staying.

“Where did you and my son meet, Bettina?”

“I was Frederick’s French tutor. I adore the child.”

“Ah, and you decided to adore Everett as well?” She clinked her spoon in her cup.

“Not at first. He was so very remote for a time.” Bettina tasted a pear, sweet and pungent with the alcohol. “He has had a lot of
… unhappiness in his life.”

“Now there's a tender subject. I have so much regret over pushing him into that marriage with Miriam. I had no idea the kind of person she was. Her mother was the dearest of women. Then Sam died
… and I left, trying to hide from my memories. I wasn’t myself for many years. But we all make mistakes.” Mrs. Camborne had a faraway mist in her eyes. Then she fixed them on Bettina, alert once more. “Miriam ran off somewhere and never returned, isn’t that true?”

“Yes it is. Everett asked her to leave. Then he contacted her in London, for the divorce.” Bettina stared into her teacup when she said the last.

“Such an unfortunate situation. Bronnmargh looks as neglected as I’m sure my son’s heart was for all that time.” Mrs. Camborne gazed around the dining room, into the dark corners.

“His heart is fine now.” Bettina wanted to speak of practical topics. “I would like to make a few alterations in here.” Her real desire was to tear down the manor and build a cozy cottage, but she wouldn’t mention that. “This is a large place for us to still live in.”

“You should have seen this estate when Sam was alive.” The woman smiled, her wrinkles softening. “How it prospered. We used to grow corn and wheat in the early days. Made a good profit, too. We had tenant farmers. There was a smokehouse, a bakehouse. But I suppose we can’t always dwell in the past, can we, dear?”

“No, we cannot.” Bettina tried to shift her own past off her shoulders. “We deserve a happy future.” She reached over and clasped the other woman’s hand, deciding she liked the idea of her staying.

* * * *

At the sound of horses out front, Bettina hurried to open the door. Everett came inside, put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. He smelled of leather and brisk air. She returned the kiss, hugged him, and then pulled away. “I have a surprise for you.”

He looked up as Mrs. Camborne strolled down the hall. “Mother? It can’t be.”

“Don’t stare at me like I’m a ghost.” Mrs. Camborne stepped up to him. He bent and she kissed his cheek. “You look well. This little wife of yours has made all the difference.”

Everett smiled at Bettina. “Indeed, she has.” He hesitated, then hugged his mother. “I hope you’ve been well, Mother.” He took both their arms and escorted them down the hall. “You must tell me how you managed to leave your island.”

Later, upstairs in the master chamber, Bettina unpacked Everett’s things. She sorted dirty clothes for washing and folded the rest into the clothes press.

“Mother seems more … content, I suppose is the word.” He sat on the bed and pulled off his dusty boots. “And she intends to stay?”

“I will enjoy having her company. I do hate lying about our marriage.” Bettina perched beside him. “Did you check on the London magistrates and their pursuit of Hollis?”

“Yes, but I suspect they’re not doing much. Writing threatening letters and attempted extortion are of low priority. If caught with his hand in the till, then he could be tried and hanged.”

Hearing the frustration in his voice, Bettina squeezed his arm. He drew her against him and kissed her. “I wish we could forget about him. I worry about you trying to find him on your own.” She rubbed a hand along his waistcoat. “Should we confide any of this to your mother?”

“If my mother thinks we suspect Hollis of murdering Miriam, she’ll realize we can’t possibly be married. It’s better if everyone believes we are.” Everett kissed her again.

“Maddie was quite curious about the wedding and wanted to know all about our finding Miriam and the ‘quick’ divorce. I hope I covered myself adequately. Kerra, she is just delighted I am expecting.” Bettina laughed, recalling her friend’s reaction. “I think she was disappointed that no one was buried here in the cellar.” She glanced at him. “That was not kind of me.”

“It’s all right. If Miriam has met a harsh fate, I don’t rejoice in it. I’m sorry for the bitterness we caused one another.” Everett brushed his fingers along her cheek.

“You once said for us to put the past behind us. I wish we could.” She slid her arms around his neck, touching his wavy brown hair. “I have not told your mother about the baby.”

“She’ll notice soon enough.” He stroked his hand over her stomach. “I’m still amazed that mother is here, after all this time.” His gaze turned serious again. “But we can hardly forget about Hollis. He’s still a threat and could easily travel all the way out here to Cornwall.”

Bettina leaned against him. “I realize that. But the only threat I want is you taking advantage of me.” She pulled his face down and kissed him on the mouth.

Everett unfastened her dress. He returned her kisses with fervor and her body responded with that heavy, warm feeling. “Indeed, let’s put it from our minds for the next hour or so,” he murmured as he unbuttoned his waistcoat.

* * * *

The aroma of baked bread and spicy apples filled the air when Bettina and Everett came down the stairs in the morning chill. Mrs. Camborne was setting items on the dining room table.

“Your mother likes to cook,” Bettina said. Her stomach, no longer beset with morning nausea, growled amidst the fragrant smells.

The table was laden with freshly made scones, blackberry jam, butter, cream, a pot of tea, toast, and baked cinnamon apples.

“Mother, you didn’t have to do all this,” Everett said, amusement in his tone.

“Don’t mind me, dear, cooking has become a hobby of mine. There wasn’t much else to do on St. Agnes.”

Frederick already sat at the table. He helped himself to a scone and spread butter across it. “There’s plenty to do here, Grandmother. You should see the garden.”

“Then come spring, you and I will tidy it up,” she said to the child, patting his hand.

He half-smiled at her with buttery lips. Then he knitted his brow. “Why didn’t you visit before? When Mother was sick?”

Mrs. Camborne withdrew her hand; her face sagged.

“Frederick, you’re speaking out of turn.” Everett wagged a finger at him. “You don’t ask your elders such personal questions.”

“Alas, rudeness is rampant in small boys.” Mrs. Camborne shrugged and smiled.

“Apologize to your grandmother, please.” Bettina heaped food on a plate.

“I’m sorry.” Frederick stuffed a hunk of baked apple into his mouth. He chewed slowly and didn’t look sorry at all.

“Are you in school, young man?” Mrs. Camborne poured herself a cup of tea.

“No, and I’m glad I’m not returning to that London school.”

“Your tutor has retired. I’ll find you a new one,” Everett said.

“If I have the proper books, I could teach him.” Bettina smiled into the boy’s frown.

Mrs. Camborne wandered around the dining room. “How’s the business, Everett? The troubles in France can’t be good for trade.”

“You’re right. But we’re managing.” He looked at Bettina for a moment.

Mrs. Camborne seemed distracted in her own thoughts. “I remember the lovely times Sam and I had here in this room, at this same table. Just talking, discussing the day’s events.”

Her tone melted to a lyrical cadence whenever she mentioned her late husband. This chamber held no such enchantment for Bettina, though she loved to hear it filled with voices. She sat beside the boy and put butter and jam on a scone.

Mrs. Camborne walked over to the window and drew back the heavy drapery. “Everett, do you remember that music box I used to have? The one your father gave me when we were first married? He knew how much I loved Bach, though his music hasn’t been popular these last several years. It played the Aria Variata
… so inspiring. I always kept the box in here on the Queen Anne table in the corner.”

“Yes, I remember it well.” He sipped his tea. “You took it with you when you left, I thought.”

“I did. I was in such a hurry, silly old fool that I am. I traveled to Plymouth to visit my cousin Alice, whom I hadn't seen in years, just before getting on the boat to St. Agnes. After arriving on the island I realized I’d left the box at her home. I wept for days over it. But never could bring myself to retrieve it, almost as if I were afraid of the memories it held.” She hesitated, her hand rubbing the material of her skirt. “Then when I came home for poor Cla—the sepulture, of course the box wasn’t on my mind.”

Everett walked over and put his hand on his mother’s shoulder, their two lean figures silhouetted before the window. “Didn’t you disembark at Plymouth when you came back this time?”

“My heavens, yes—but when I went to her home the place was locked up. A woman who peered over the hedge at me informed me that Alice had gone to Brighton and wasn’t due back for a week. I couldn’t waste time waiting for her, so I just continued on up here.” Mrs. Camborne stared out the window.

Bettina nibbled on a buttery scone, then swallowed. She pushed her own wishes aside and voiced what she sensed remained unspoken. “Everett, why do you not take your mother down to Plymouth to pay a visit and pick up the music box?”