Page 120 of Counting on a Countess
Though it wasn’t possible to read Edwards’s expression, he said to Sam, “You can return to your place of business.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam bowed. “Thank you, sir.” He hurried inside, but stood right in the window and stared at the assembly on the street.
“Lord Shawe,” the chief inspector said, turning to Jory. “Have you any additional evidence against Lord and Lady Blakemere?”
“I...” Jory’s mouth opened and closed. He looked frantically at Gwen, who could only offer a helpless shrug.
“I think that means ‘no,’ sir,” the junior officer said.
Edwards put his hands on his hips, a movement which was echoed by Wright. The silence that followed was the longest of Tamsyn’s life.
Finally, Edwards spoke. “Without any further proof of your allegations, and in light of Lord and Lady Blakemere’s thorough explanation, I see no reason why this inquiry should proceed any further. We have found no evidence of smuggling here.”
Tamsyn pressed her lips together tightly to hold in her cry of triumph.
His eyes shining with exhilaration, Kit sent her the briefest of smiles before smoothing out his expression.
“Lord Shawe,” Edwards said sternly, “in the future, you would be advised to have actual proof of a crime before making such a serious accusation against a titled gentleman, particularly one as distinguished as Lord Blakemere.”
As Jory stammered, the chief inspector turned to Kit and Tamsyn. “The plans for this village sound delightful. Please do let me know when construction is complete. I think my missus would enjoy it very much.”
“We’ll be sure to reserve a room with an ocean view.” Kit stuck out his hand, and the officer shook it.
Both officers bowed at Tamsyn, then walked back in the direction of Chei Owr. As they ambled up the road, more and more villagers came out of their hiding places to talk animatedly amongst themselves.
Gwen lurched toward the step of Sam’s shop and sat down heavily, her gaze vacant. Like a flag in high winds, Jory shook with apoplectic rage. His chest puffing out and his arms stiff at his sides, Jory stormed up to Kit. Her uncle started to speak, but Kit cut him off.
“NowI’lltellyouhow it’s going to work,” Kit said, his voice low but firm. “You are going to sell me the house for the sum of one pound, and then I’m giving the house to my wife so it will belong to her even in the event of my death.”
Tamsyn stared at him, victory ricocheting through her body like a bullet.
Gwen roused enough to yelp, “One pound!”
“Then,” Kit continued as if Gwen hadn’t spoken, “you and Lady Shawe are going to clear out of Cornwall and never return. London will be off-limits to you. Find some other corner of the world that can tolerate your stench.”
“Here, now!” Jory exclaimed. “I ain’t going to do any of that. And you can’t make me.”
Kit’s smile was vicious. “The Crown has made me anearl. I have the ear of very powerful men—including the Duke of Greyland. I see by the chalkiness of your face that you’ve heard of His Grace. All I have to do is whisper one word to him,one word, and you and your lady wife won’t be welcome anywhere. Not in England. Not in Scotland or Ireland. And certainly nowhere on the Continent. A well-connected man, is the duke.”
Feeling herself blaze with justice, Tamsyn crossed her arms over her chest. “From the day you arrived to bury my parents and take possession of Chei Owr, you overlooked me. All you cared about was your own gratification. Ponder that in your ostracism,” she said, her voice charged with feeling. “The girl who only wanted your love is sending you into exile.”
Her uncle had the waxy appearance of a cadaver. “H-how are we supposed to live?” he stammered.
“No one’s taking away the income from the barony,” she said icily. “That’s still yours. Chei Owr, however, will belong to me.”
“But... but...” Jory stuttered.
“Ingrate,” Gwen spat, struggling to rise. “After all we did—”
“You did nothing.” She took Kit’s hand and held it tightly. He looked down at her with a warm, encouraging expression, and her heart felt full. She pointed up the hill, toward Chei Owr. “Go and pack,” she commanded. “Take only what you came with ten years ago. The rest is mine.”
For several moments, neither her aunt nor her uncle moved as they sputtered like fish.
“March!” Kit ordered, sounding every inch the commanding officer.
Jory hurried off with a speed that belied his years. Gwen followed, casting baleful looks over her shoulder. Finally, they crested the hill and disappeared.
A hot wash of relief poured through Tamsyn, nearly blinding her.
