Page 18 of Hazard a Guest
He’s not for me, she reminded herself.
Before she knew it, Blackcove was looming in the distance.
SUIT 2: DIAMONDS
CHAPTER 6
The trip down the pebbled approach to Blackcove had been a truly glorious affair. From the arched, gothic flair of the revival portcullis, built for romance rather than function, to the sprawling grandeur of the frosty, bare trees lining the dormant gardens, it was somehow every grandiose thing that Joe had imagined on the way here.
He felt a little humbled by it, truth be told. He had thought without a doubt that all of Freddy’s grandiose proselytizing about the beauty of the place had been a bit of bluster. After all, it sounded exaggerated when a man known for his dramatics started waxing poetic, lovingly describing an estate built by Queen Elizabeth’ssecond-favorite privateer at the height of her conflict with Spain.
“Imagine a sand castle, Cresson,” Freddy had said, miming the action of dripping a handful of wet sand into a precarious, tapering tower, “but built of slate and granite. It looks like something out of a child’s story, built by new money to satirize old money, and accidentally becoming legendary in the process!”
Cressonhadimagined it. He just hadn’t really expected his imagination to be made manifest by the towering work of art that was apparently a home and a history and a hallmark of Cornish ne’er-do-well legacy.
It was dusk. Already the heavy glow of the gibbous moon was complicit in the drama. The glimmer of torches in the distance, each flame flickering higher by the breath as they drew nearer, cast shadows on the walls of Blackcove in flickering impressions of ghostly shape.
Even the sound of all the pebbles under the wheels of the carriage felt otherworldly. Cresson could swear it was sparkling as they grew nearer to the light.
“It’s quartz,” Freddy said excitedly, as though he could hear Cresson’s wonder crackling through the air. “Can you imagine it, Cresson? Pale and even transparent sometimes, worn smooth like pearls, glimmering like a pirate’s treasure all up and down the coast. It’s white and green and pink sometimes, each a perfect gemstone, sometimes smaller than a speck of dust.”
Even Miss Donnelly looked a bit taken with it, leaning against the window with a wistful smile on her face as she observed the full effect of their approach.
Though, of course, perhaps she was just happy to have finally made her way to this party.
Joe frowned. He wished he knew, of course. She hadn’t talked to him very much on the way here.
He supposed he hadn’t talked to her much either. He’d never been much good at thinking of things to say at the best of times. Opposite this particular woman, it was hopeless.
Freddy threw open the door as soon as they came to a halt, likely compounding the annoyance of the driver from the many other times he had done the same thing over the last several days. Freddy, of course, was completely oblivious, standing akimbo and gazing up at the big manor house like he’d built it himself.
“Bentley?” a voice called from the house. “Is that you, you dog? I thought you’d died!”
“Not yet!” Freddy called back, arguably without possibly having identified who was accusing him of having died. He sounded pleased with himself.
A man was striding across the lawn, tailed by two servants whose matching crimson uniforms looked positively macabre in the low flicker of the lamps. The man himself was old enough to have hair and a beard that had gone entirely white, a waxed and curling mustache serving as the focal point.
“You haven’t graced us with your presence in … what is it? At least five years now!” the man boomed, his voice echoing through the empty drive and towering stone at his back. “I hope you brought those ivory dice!”
Freddy stiffened but did not drop his smile, his arms dropping to his sides and his knees sagging as the gentleman finished crossing the lawn.
“Evening, Lord Penrose,” Ember called from next to Cresson, dropping her cherrywood valise at her toes. “What a pleasure to finally see this grand estate in person.”
Penrose paused, his arm partially outstretched to shake Freddy’s hand as his gaze fell on Joe and Ember behind him. “Ah,” he said softly. “You’ve brought your mistress.”
“Afraid not,” said Ember, giving the man a sharp and easy smile as she strode forward, her hips swinging to make the sumptuous layers of her winter skirt sway. “My contract with Lord Bentley ended some time ago. I’m here as the proprietress of Brigid’s Forge and Lord Bentley’s own guest.”
“I see,” said Penrose in a voice that implied he did not see. “And who is this other fellow? Hello there!”
“Ah, meet Joseph Cresson,” Freddy said, snapping out of his momentary fugue to tug Joe into the fray. “He is a dear friend and a crack shot with dice of his own if the spirit moves him. Isn’t that right, Joseph?”
Joe startled a little at being called by his Christian name, and accepted the handshake from the baron. “I suppose it must be true,” he managed to say, “if Lord Bentley says it’s so.”
“Ha!” said the baron. “Well, come in, all of you. Let’s get out of the cold.”
He snapped his fingers and sent the two crimson-coated servants to collect their bags. “Miss Donnelly, I’m afraid we are short on ladies’ quarters. You may have to share.”
Ember adjusted her posture just the slightest tic, a tilting of her curly head at the slight, but she did not protest as they crossed the threshold into the house.
