Page 13 of The Cornish Lyon

“Were you at Waterloo?”

He shook his head. “A few years ago I was dispatched to be in charge of the Cornish Militia in order to carry out preventative measures against the growing threat of smuggling in Cornwall. I’ve been there ever since.”

“I’ve never been to Cornwall. Do you like your job down there?”

He pulled a noncommittal expression. “It’s a difficult job as the locals are all against us, both the peasants and the local gentry.” He laughed. “I’m certain I’ve drunk contraband brandy many times without knowing it in the houses of the local dignitaries. Not that they would ever admit it. But I did like it, I suppose. Although I have no intention of returning there if I can help it. Not as a militia man, at any rate.”

Her eyes lit up. “I, on the other hand, have always wanted to see Cornwall. I gather it’s very beautiful.”

He gave a shrug. “It’s a long, thin county with an infernally long coast line to both north and south that’s almost impossible to police. A great number of hidden coves where contraband is brought ashore, and secret ways only the smugglers know. But yes, it’s beautiful indeed. I suppose it’s in my blood as my father was Cornish.”

She fixed him with those lovely gold-flecked eyes of hers. How long her lashes were. “Perhaps you might take me there one day?”

He couldn’t help but smile. “I would like very much to do that.” Would he? What was he saying?

“And what about your commission? Do you intend to remain in the army now we are married?”

A reasonable question and one that was easy to answer. He shook his head. “I fully intend to relinquish my commission and take up life out of uniform. I’ve had my fill of the army.” He sharpened his stare. “I’ve wanted to do so for a while, now, but been unable to afford to. Thanks to you, I shall be able to do so immediately.” And spend some time wooing this intriguing young woman. He might as well, as she was now his wife. The thought warmed his blood.

She digested this information for a full minute, during which she took a tentative spoonful of the soup. “I was right. I don’t fancy this soup one bit.”

Having already raised the subject of her fortune, mentioning her condition seemed a logical thing to do at this point. He didn’t want it to become an unmentioned barrier between them. “Perhaps it is your condition that makes you feel like that.” He paused. “I remember when my sister was expecting my niece, she found most foods not to her taste and even developed a taste for pickled herrings.”

“You have a sister?” She skipped over the mention of the pickled herrings, which he’d intended to amuse her with, her voice holding a hint of anticipation mingled with fear. “How will she view your somewhat precipitate marriage to someone she’s never met? I hear sisters can be quite protective of their brothers. And vice versa.”

How indeed? An involuntary grin forced its way onto his face. “She will be both pleased that I am at last ‘settling down’, and chagrined that she was not informed about our nuptials and invited to attend.” He paused as he pictured Marianne’s rather square face. She took after their late grandfather in looks, whereas he had inherited his features and build from his handsome father and possessed the darkly saturnine appearance of the Carlyon family.

“Oh dear. Do you think she will like me?”

“She will guess that I’ve married you for your fortune. I’ve made no secret of the fact that I had to do so. Let us hope she doesn’t divine the reason you have accepted me.”

Her cheeks took on a delicate blush which only served to enhance her looks and stir him still further. The thought that at least for now he was going to enjoy being married crept over him. He’d never yet been faithful to one woman for more than a month or two and he doubted he could do it now. For a wife.

She frowned. “I find it rather ungentlemanly of you to mention my condition in that way. It is, after all, a perfectly natural process.”

He grinned, delighted at her repartee. “But you must remember, my dear Georgiana, that if I were a gentleman I would not have been willing to marry you and give a name to your child.” He restrained himself from calling the child “your bastard.” The last thing he wanted to do was really offend her. She had the look of someone who might take offense over something small.

Instead of being offended, she burst out laughing. “Well, your professing that you are not a gentleman can only be a good thing, I would say, as I myself am not a lady in the strictest sense of the word. My grandfather started off poor and made his fortune in the East India trade, and my father carried this on and increased his holdings by dint of wise investments. So you see, I come from very humble beginnings and have no actual claim to being a lady of any sort.”

Her forthrightness astonished him again. Most young ladies would have been desperate to hide antecedents such as she had. Perhaps the possession of her considerable fortune had imbued her with a disregard for all things upper crust. He joined her in laughing. “We should be well matched then. I confess myself curious as to the identity of your illustrious and ingenious papa. Might I enquire about him further? Although I don’t believe I have ever encountered another Frampton.”

Her face clouded. “My papa was Mr. Percival Frampton of The East Indian Tea Company, although tea is by no means the only commodity his company…my company as it is now… trades in.”

“The business is not named after your family?”

She shook her head. “Goodness, no. My grandfather, whom I never knew as he died long before I was born, was a great forward thinker, or so my papa told me. He had ambitions for my papa and didn’t want the hint of trade adhering to our family name. Although why he should be so ashamed of having made his own fortune, I don’t know. So much better than inheriting it from one’s ancestors. So much more praiseworthy. I myself am very proud of what he did, and also of my papa.”

“Would your papa be proud of you now?” He spoke the words before he had time to think, and straightaway regretted them for their blatant accusatory nature. It was going to take careful play on his part to tame this particular young lady.

She frowned. “I know his sister, my Aunt Patience, is not. However… my dear papa was made of different stuff to my aunt, who has never married nor known the delight of true love.” Her voice died away.

Realizing this was a moment for a show of compassion, Fitz slid his hand across the table to cover hers. “You loved this young man of yours who left you in such a precarious position?”

She pressed her lips together and frowned as though considering this deeply. “I did…at the time, but that is all past now. I would rather not speak of him, if that is all the same with you.” She pulled her hand free of his. “I would rather learn more about you. Tell me about your family.”

The landlord interrupted them again, as he arrived to clear away the now cold soup and deliver the main course of boiled beef and vegetables. When they were alone once more, Fitz obliged her request as she began to pick at her food in a rather desultory manner. He remembered, even though he’d only been twelve at the time, how Marianne had been sick for weeks when expecting Harriet and quite off her food. That must be it. Still, despite her lack of appetite, which could just be nerves, she had a glow about her that spoke of robust health. Exactly what one would want in a wife. And she was living proof of her fertility. What more could a man ask for?

Perhaps he could assuage her understandable fears and make her laugh again. “If you think your family is a little below par in the nobility stakes, then I must assure you mine harbors its own scandals.” He took a bite of the beef, which was good. “My mother, who, on first acquaintance, you would not think was once as reckless as you, caused a great scandal when she eloped with my father. She was only eighteen years old, you see, and he was a younger son with few, if any, prospects. They galloped off to Gretna Green to be married by the smith there, as my grandfather, being a duke and very aware of his own importance, would never have countenanced her marriage to the younger son of a viscount.”