Page 21 of The Cornish Inheritance

Chapter Ten

Back at Roskilly, Nat and Sam left their two horses in the care of Old Pascoe, the man who’d risen to take over his father’s place as head groom in the eleven years Nat had been away and was indeed the father of the young groom Nat had already met, and Nat led Sam indoors. Luncheon must be over by now, so Nat escorted their visitor in the direction of the parlor, where his mother always liked to spend her afternoons. However, this involved passing the library, the door of which stood slightly ajar. The sound of merry laughter emanated from within.

Sam ground to a halt.

“No, you can’t do that,” came Miss Fairfield’s voice raised in what sounded like a mix of mock admonition and laughter. “The only pieces that can move diagonally are the bishops and the queen.”

“But why can’t my prawn move the same?” The high-pitched and indignant tones of young Yves carried to Nat’s ears.

“It’s a pawn, you silly, not a prawn.” Hetty’s voice, brimming with mirth. “But he’s right, Caroline. It would be a much more interesting game if they could all move wherever they wanted.” For a moment, Nat’s stony heart softened. What would it be like to be so carefree and happy again? To be young and reveling in the joys of life as Hetty and Yves did, and perhaps Miss Fairfield as well.

Miss Fairfield’s voice came again. “Well, a pawn can move diagonally, but only if it’s taking another piece. Like this.” More laughter.

“I say,” Sam said. “That sounds to me like Caroline. I mean, Miss Fairfield. Do you mind if we stop to see her?”

This must have been a rhetorical question, because without waiting for an answer, Sam pushed the library door open wider and stepped through it. Just as a quavery old voice that had to be Aunt Agnes’s rose in a plaintive whine. “Let me help little Robert. I know how all the pieces move. I’m not so old and feeble that I’ve forgotten that.”

Grinding his teeth at the delay in delivering their guest and therefore making his escape, Nat followed Sam into the library.

Everyone who’d presumably just been staring at Sam suddenly transferred their gazes to him. Reacting without thinking, he turned his head slightly to the right. Miss Fairfield’s sympathetic eyes followed the inadvertent move, and he felt heat flood his cheeks as though he’d been caught out in some furtive crime.

Miss Fairfield recovered first. She rose from the wingback chair she’d been occupying and swept Sam a graceful curtsey. “Mr. Beauchamp, how delightful to see you.”

Sam bowed. “Miss Fairfield. And this must be Miss Treloar.”

“It is indeed,” Caroline replied.

“Two Miss Treloars,” Hetty responded, also rising to her feet from a stool she’d pulled up, no doubt so she could benefit the players with her wisdom. She executed an elegant curtsey for Sam. “For this is my Aunt Agnes who is also a Miss Treloar and, by benefit of her age, takes precedence over me.”

“Prettily put, for such a chit,” Aunt Agnes muttered, her gaze flicking from Nat to Sam and then back again. Her sparse, straggly eyebrows lowered. “Do I not merit an introduction to our visitor, young Nat?”

At least she’d remembered his name this time. “Aunt Agnes, may I present Mr. Samuel Beauchamp of Carlyon Court,” Nat said. “A friend of Miss Fairfield’s.”

Caroline edged her way around the chess board. “And as such we are on first name terms. Sam is my dear friend, Miss Treloar, as is his wife, Ysella Carlyon as was.”

The old lady sucked her lips over her sparsely toothed gums. “Well connected for a governess, ain’t you?” Her eyes darted over Sam. “I remember going to Carlyon Court as a girl. The old viscount settled it on his younger son and he married a local girl. Wise man that he was.” Her eyes took on a vacant expression, as though she were seeing back into the long gone past. “Miss Gabriella Polvean, I think her name was. Lovely woman.” Her gaze sharpened. “Be you related to them, then?”

“Better shout,” Hetty said. “Or she won’t hear you.”

Sam stepped closer to Aunt Agnes. “I’m married to that Lady Ormonde’s granddaughter, Miss Treloar.”

Yves, who had remained seated on his stool opposite Caroline, now rose to his feet, a distinct look of his grandfather about him. He made a little bow, made comical by his skeleton suit. “Welcome to Roskilly, Mr. Beauchamp.”

“May I introduce Master Yves Treloar,” Caroline said. “My pupil.”

Nat began to edge toward the door, but Aunt Agnes wasn’t about to lose her audience. “Sit down, sit down, boy,” she cackled. “And Yves, ring the bell for Ennion and we’ll get tea sent up.”

Sam obediently pulled up a seat nearer to the fire, and Nat did the same, with distinct unwillingness, and keeping a little further back. Damn it. He’d never escape now. He was stuck having to take tea with a man who was too chatty for his liking, three women, and a far-too-cheeky child.

“Can you play chess, sir?” Yves asked Sam, as he regained his stool after having rung the bell.

Sam nodded. “Not well. I’ve not a mind for tactics. But I’m good at draughts.”

“What’s draughts?”

“We have a draughts set,” Hetty piped up. “It’s much easier than chess. You’d like it, Yves. I’ll fetch it.”

While Yves and Hetty delved into one of the chests under the long library windows, Caroline regained her seat. She was tall for a woman, and perhaps not so plain as Nat had at first thought. An intelligent, thoughtful face, that, when she smiled at Yves, lit up. If you were generous, she could even be taken for pretty when she smiled.