Persuasion

“I am sure the family is reeling,” Lucas was saying quietly. “She was certainly too young to die. St. Just must be in shock.”

Amelia looked up carefully. Lucas was right. Grenville had to have loved his beautiful wife very much. She cleared her throat. “You have taken me by surprise, Lucas, as you always do! I was hardly expecting you, and you step in the door, with such stunning news.”

He put his arm around her. “I am sorry. I heard about Lady Grenville when I stopped in Penzance to change carriages.”

“I am very concerned about the children. We must help the family in every way that we can.” She meant her every word. She never turned her back on anyone in need.

He smiled slightly. “Now that is the sister I know and love. Of course you are concerned. I am sure Grenville will make the appropriate arrangements for everyone, once he can think clearly.”

She stared thoughtfully. Grenville was undoubtedly in shock. Now, deliberately, she kept his dark, handsome image at bay—remembering that he was likely fat and gray. “Yes, of course he will.” She surveyed the cheerfully set table. It wasn’t easy making up a table, not when their circumstances were so pinched. The gardens were not yet in bloom, so the centerpiece was a tall silver candelabra, left over from better times. An ancient sideboard was the only piece of furniture in the room, and their best china was displayed there. Their hall was as sparsely furnished. “Luncheon will be ready in a few more minutes. Will you go upstairs and get Momma?”

“Of course. And you did not have to go to this trouble.”

“I am thrilled when you are home. Of course we will dine as if we are an ordinary family.”

His smile was wry. “There are few ordinary families left, Amelia, not in these times.”

Her small smile faded. Lucas had just walked in the door moments ago, and she hadn’t seen him in a month or more. There were shadows under his eyes and a small scar on his cheekbone, which hadn’t been there before. She was afraid to ask how he’d gotten it, and even more afraid to ask where. He was still a dangerously handsome man, but the revolution in France and the war had entirely changed their lives.

Before the French monarchy had fallen, they had all lived simple lives. Lucas had spent his time managing the estate, his biggest concern increasing the productivity of their mine and quarry. Jack, who was a year her junior, had been just another Cornish smuggler, laughing about outracing the Revenue Men. And her younger sister, Julianne, had spent her every spare moment innocently in the library, reading everything she could and honing her Jacobin sympathies. Greystone Manor had been a busy, happy home. Although the small estate depended almost entirely upon an iron quarry and tin mine for its income, they managed well enough. Amelia had an entire family to take care of—including her mother. The only thing that the war hadn’t changed was that Momma remained entirely senile.

John Greystone, her father, had left the family when Amelia was only seven years old, and Momma had begun losing her grip on reality shortly thereafter. Amelia had instinctively stepped into the breach, helping with the household, making shopping lists and planning menus, and even ordering their few servants about. And mostly she had cared for Julianne, then a toddler. Their uncle, Sebastian Warlock, had sent a foreman to manage the estate, but Lucas had taken over those duties before he was even fifteen. Theirs had been an unusual household, but it had been a busy and familial one, filled with love and laughter, no matter the financial strain.

The house was nearly empty now. Julianne had fallen in love with the Earl of Bedford when he had been deposited at the manor by their brothers, while at death’s door. Of course, she hadn’t known who he was—he had seemed to be a French army officer at the time. It had been a very rocky road—he had been a spy for Pitt and she had been a Jacobin sympathizer. It was still rather amazing, but she had recently eloped with Bedford, and she had just given birth to their daughter in London, where they lived. Amelia shook her head, bemused. Her radical sister was now the Countess of Bedford—and madly in love with her Tory husband.

Her brothers’ lives had changed because of the war, as well. Lucas was rarely at Greystone Manor now. Because they were but two years apart in age, and because they had taken over the roles of their parents, they were close. Amelia was his confidante, although he did not tell her every detail of his affairs. Lucas had not been able to sit idly by while the revolution swept over France. Some time ago, Lucas had secretly offered his services up to the War Office. Even before the Terror began sweeping France, there had been a flood of émigrés fleeing the revolutionaries—fleeing for their lives. Lucas had spent the past two years “extracting” émigrés from the shores of France.

It was a dangerous activity. If Lucas were ever caught by the French authorities, he would be instantly arrested and sent to the guillotine. Amelia was proud of him, but she was also so afraid for him.

She worried about Lucas all of the time, of course. He was the anchor of the family—its patriarch. But she worried about Jack even more. Jack was fearless. He was reckless. He acted as if he thought himself to be immortal. Before the war, he had been a simple Cornish smuggler—one of the dozens making such a living, and following in the footsteps of too many of his ancestors to count. Now Jack was making a fortune from the smuggling of various goods between the countries at war. No game could be more dangerous. Jack had been outwitting and outrunning the Royal Navy for years. Before the war, a prison sentence had awaited him if he were ever captured. Now, however, he would be accused of treason if the British authorities caught him defying the blockade of France. Treason was a hanging offense.

And from time to time, Jack aided Lucas in smuggling people across the channel.

Amelia was grateful that, at least, Julianne was comfortably settled and preoccupied with her husband and daughter. She met Lucas’s probing regard. “I worry about you and I worry about Jack. At least I don’t have to worry about Julianne now.”

He smiled. “On that point I agree. She is well cared for and out of all danger.”

“If only the war would end! If only there was good news!” Amelia shook her head, thinking how Lady Grenville had died, leaving behind an innocent newborn daughter and two small boys. “I can’t imagine what it would be like, to live without war.”

“We are fortunate we do not live in France.” He wasn’t smiling now.

“Please, I cannot listen to another horrible story. The rumors are bad enough.”

“I was not going to burden you with one. You do not need to know the details of how the innocent in France suffer. If we are fortunate, our armies will defeat the French this spring. We are poised to invade Flanders, Amelia. We have strong positions from Ypres to the Meuse River, and I think Coburg, the Austrian, is a good general.” He was quiet for a moment. “If we win the war, the Republic will fall. And that will be liberation for us all.”

“I am praying we will win,” she said, but she was still thinking about the Countess of St. Just and the children she had left behind.

Lucas took her elbow. When he spoke, his tone was low, as if he did not want to be overheard, although there was no one except Garrett, the servant, to really overhear them. “I came home because I am worried. Did you hear what happened at Squire Penwaithe’s?”

She met his gaze, tensing. “Of course I did. Everyone heard. Three French sailors—deserters—appeared at his front door, asking for food. The squire gave them a meal. Afterward, they held the family at gunpoint and looted the house.”

“Fortunately they were apprehended the next day and no one was hurt.” Lucas was grim.

Amelia was well aware of what he was thinking. She was living in such isolation with their mother and their one servant. Garrett happened to have been a sergeant in the British infantry, and was adept with weapons. Still, Greystone Manor was at one of the farthest southwestern points of Cornwall. Its isolation was one reason the parish had been such a haven for smugglers over the centuries. It was a very short run from Sennen Cove, which was just below the house, to Brest, in France.

Those deserters could have shown up at her door, Amelia thought.

A headache had begun. Suddenly tired of worrying, Amelia rubbed her temples. At least the gun closet was full—and being a Cornish woman, she knew very well how to load and fire a musket, a carbine and a pistol.

“I think you and Momma should spend the spring in London,” Lucas said flatly. “There is plenty of room at Warlock’s Cavendish Square flat, and you will be able to visit with Julianne frequently.” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

She had just spent a month in London with her sister, after her niece’s birth. They were close, and it had been a wonderful, almost peaceful, interlude. Amelia began to consider leaving her home temporarily. Maybe Lucas was right. “It is not a bad idea, but what about the manor? Will we simply close it up? And what about Farmer Richards? You know he pays me the rents, now that you are always gone.”

“I can make arrangements to have the rents collected. I feel I would be negligent in my familial duty, Amelia, if I did not remove you and Momma to safer ground.”

He was right, Amelia realized. “It will take some time to make the proper arrangements,” she said.

“Try to close up this house as swiftly as possible,” he returned. “I have to go back to London, and I will do so after the funeral. When you are ready to join me, I will either come for you myself, or send Jack or a driver.”

Amelia nodded, but now, all she could think about was the impending funeral. “Lucas, do you know when they will hold the funeral?”

“I heard that they will have a service at the St. Just chapel on Sunday, but she will be buried in the family mausoleum in London.”

She tensed. It was already Friday! And there was Grenville, with his dark eyes and dark hair, assailing her in her mind’s eye another time. She wet her lips. “I have to attend. So do you.”

“Yes. We can go together.”

She looked at him, her heart lurching. She could not stop her thoughts. On Sunday she would see Simon for the first time in ten years.

* * *

AMELIA SAT WITH LUCAS and Momma in their carriage, clutching her gloved hands tightly together. She could not believe the amount of tension within her. She could barely breathe.

It was noon on Sunday. In another half an hour, the service for Elizabeth Grenville would begin.

St. Just Hall was in sight.

It was a huge manor that was entirely out of place in Cornwall. Built of pale stone, the central part of the house was three stories high, with four huge alabaster columns gracing the entrance. A lower, two-story wing was on the landward side, with sloping slate roofs. At the farthest end was the chapel, replete with its own courtyard, columns gracing the facade and corner towers abutting the adjacent entry.

Tall, black leafless trees surrounded the house. The grounds were equally barren from the long winter, but in May, the gardens would start to bloom. By the summer, the grounds would be a canvas of rioting color, the trees lush and green, the maze of hedges behind the house almost impossible to escape.

Amelia knew all of that firsthand.

She must not remember being lost in that maze now. She must not remember being breathless and giddy, and then Simon had turned the corner, sweeping her into his arms...

She shut off her thoughts, shaken, as their carriage moved up the graveled drive, following two dozen other vehicles. The entire parish would turn out for Lady Grenville’s funeral. Farmers would stand side by side with squires.

And in a few more minutes, she would see Grenville again.