The Passions 0f Lord Trevethow (The Cornish Dukes Book 2)

by Bronwyn Scott

  Pen looked up and forced a smile. ‘Not at all, at least not at all if such largesse wasn’t coming from our father. I’m merely wondering what he wants, how does this suit his plans?’

  Phin frowned at her, disappointed with the cynical direction of her thoughts. ‘He wants your happiness. Are you not pleased with the efforts he’s made these last weeks? You’ve had the elite of Cornwall served up to you so that you may make your choice.’

  ‘And tomorrow we’re off to visit Wadesbridge,’ Pen put in with less enthusiasm. ‘We’re back to where we started.’

  ‘We wouldn’t be if you’d pick one of them, show an interest. Toss Father an olive branch, Pen. He’s trying,’ Phin encouraged.

  ‘If I toss him an olive branch, he’ll take the whole bush and have me wedded to the first man I blink at. Did he put you up to this?’ Pen sighed, disappointed in her anger and in lashing out at the least guilty party among them. Her brother meant well. ‘I’m sorry, Phin. It must be difficult for you playing the liaison all the time.’ She was reminded of the advice she’d given Matthew about his stubborn gentleman. Had Matthew found an advocate? She would ask when she saw him. Two days from now. Despite the promise of birthday celebrations, the two days stretched before her endlessly.

  ‘Are you well, Pen? You’ve seemed distracted of late.’ Phin wasn’t done with his scrutiny. She’d have to try harder to not give herself away. Margery had noticed and now Phin thought he was on to something.

  ‘I’m fine. It’s been a difficult few weeks.’ It wasn’t entirely a lie. The last month had been difficult as well as fantastic. She just wished the fantastic part didn’t need to be her own secret.

  Their father joined them and all personal conversation was set aside in lieu of small talk about the estate until dinner was announced, but Pen did not miss the undercurrent of excitement that jumped between her father and Phin. Whatever her surprise was, they’d planned it for her and it clearly pleased them. It would please her, too, Pen decided, looking around the table at her little family. Tragedy had shaped so much of their lives. Wasn’t it time for a little joy to do the same?

  ‘Well, Daughter, you will be twenty-one soon.’ Her father approached the subject as the meal ended, a pleased look in his eyes. ‘You’ve done as I’ve asked this past month, considering various candidates for your hand. But perhaps the process is still too contrived for your purposes.’ He smiled kindly and for a moment Pen saw the father she’d known in early childhood, a more carefree version of himself, a happier version. ‘Penrose, you’ve mentioned how much you long to see something of the world and your desire to go to London. So...’ he slid a glance at Phin and winked ‘...we have decided to give you a London Season for your birthday. We leave tomorrow. Your maid is already packing.’

  Pen stared. Her father was beaming, looking entirely pleased with himself, and Phin was grinning from ear to ear. They were expecting her to say something. They’d just served up one of her wishes, a wish any girl would be delighted to receive. ‘B-but,’ she stammered, trying to organise her thoughts, ‘I can’t possibly go now.’ If she left, she wouldn’t see Matthew. She cast about for a reason to stay. ‘What about Trescowe? Aren’t we promised for a visit?’

  ‘We’ll stop there and continue on.’ Her father was in high humour as he solved the little problem.

  ‘But I need time to prepare. There are purchases I need to make.’ She didn’t have enough gloves or stockings for London and probably not enough dresses despite the influx of new ones for the dinner parties.

  Again her father beamed. ‘Buy them in London. You’ll have two weeks to shop to your heart’s content before the Season truly begins. You see, I’ve thought of everything. There’s no reason not to get in the coach tomorrow morning and enjoy yourself.’ He was waiting for her to say something, probably ‘thank you’. ‘Well? Aren’t you pleased, Pen? It’s what you wanted. We’ll find you a fine husband in London.’

  ‘She’s stunned.’ Phin leapt into the breach, covering for her lapse even as he slid her a questioning look. ‘I never thought to see you speechless, Pen.’

  ‘I’m overwhelmed.’ She managed a smile. ‘Thank you, truly, both of you.’ Phin, no doubt, had probably argued quite hard for this chance. It was unfair of her to not appreciate it now. They couldn’t possibly know how their gift broke her heart.

  * * *

  The rest of the meal passed in a blur. Her favourite dessert, a chocolate ganache cake, was brought in. Cook must have worked hours on it. Her brother and father laughed and talked endlessly of London; which entertainments they would take in, the people they would meet. Talk of balls and parties, decorations and food, flowed over her, but left her untouched. She made the appropriate noises, smiling and nodding in the right places. She ate the chocolate cake. She must have since her plate was empty. But all the while her mind was elsewhere.

  How could she send word to Matthew? How did she leave a message for a man whose name she didn’t know? That no one knew? If she could get to the cottage, she could leave a message there. But how to do that? She’d have to go tonight, in the dark. It would be almost impossible to get out of the castle and impossible to get back in, to say nothing of the risks of injury. In the dark it was easy to lose one’s way, to turn an ankle in a hole. She’d not make it back home then.

  Perhaps she could send someone else in the morning? But who would that be? Only Margery could be trusted with the errand and Margery was expected to travel with her. There would be no opportunity for a trip to the cottage. By the time Pen excused herself from the table, claiming the need for a good night’s sleep, her heart was breaking. Her mind had moved on from thoughts of how to get to the cottage, to accepting the reality that she would not be able to reach Matthew. What would happen in two days when Matthew showed up and she didn’t? All this time, she’d worried he would disappear suddenly, but it was she who would break the pact they’d made at Mutton Cove.

  He would be hurt. He cared for her. Would all that caring turn to hate? Would he feel betrayed? Would he think she’d decided to wed the man she was visiting? Or would he understand that none of this had been her choice? That events had transpired that were beyond her control? Would he forgive her?

  Would she forgive him if he simply stopped coming? That was a difficult question to answer. They’d accepted what they had couldn’t last for ever, but they’d intended to say goodbye. Perhaps he’d think the worst of her. He would never know how much these weeks had meant to her, how alive she felt when she was with him.

  In her room, Margery was busy packing, full of energy, her excitement at odds with Pen’s melancholy. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? London, at last!’ Her smile faded. ‘What is it? Aren’t you happy, miss? It’s what you’ve wanted.’ Margery set aside the pile of gowns in her arms and came to her, taking her hands. ‘It is your young man, is it not?’

  Pen sank down on an empty patch of bed. ‘I’ll never see him again. There’s no chance to tell him, to explain.’ But to explain what? To see him again would require she disclose everything. ‘He’ll think I left him,’ Pen said forlornly. There would be no more kisses, no more of this afternoon’s decadence, there would be no hope of lying with him skin to skin on the faded quilt. ‘I was supposed to meet him there for my birthday.’ She bit her lip as tears threatened. ‘He was bringing me a present.’ It would have been something thoughtful, something that spoke to the quality of their relationship.

  ‘Perhaps it’s for the best. It had to end some time,’ Margery consoled softly. ‘I know it hurts now, but this way it’s over quickly and there will be no messiness. You’ll be gone. He can’t follow you, can’t find you, can’t make trouble for you.’

  ‘I know.’ Pen had been over all the silver linings in her mind, but that didn’t make it better. Those linings were tarnished. She wanted Matthew to find her, but he was lost to her. ‘Margery, make sure you pack my glass necklace.’ She would keep it
with her always as a reminder of what it had felt like to be loved for herself and what it had felt like to have a heart so she wouldn’t be tempted to risk it again.

  * * *

  Em’s birthday present, fifteen pounds of wriggling puppy, squirmed under Cassian’s arm as he approached the cottage. It had been a feat of no small magnitude to carry the puppy on his horse. But the look on Em’s face would be worth it. It was a rash gift, one she couldn’t keep. But he would keep the puppy for her. The gift was the experience, a puppy of her own for the afternoon. They could take it walking in the meadow and it could gambol at her side just as she’d imagined growing up.

  Cassian stepped inside the cottage and smiled. He’d arrived ahead of her. Good. He set the puppy down on the floor. He wanted time to set the fire and lay out the picnic. He’d packed something special for her birthday. He wanted this afternoon to be perfect, quiet and private, a celebration just between them. They’d been together nearly five weeks and he was aware time was running out. Soon, he’d have to make good on the promise he’d made to tell her. It looked like he’d have to go to London, after all. There’d been no breakthrough with the earl. Tomorrow. He would tell her tomorrow. He’d would let them have today. One more brilliant day in the sunshine of their fantasy.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, the food was ready, the fire had warmed the room, but there was no sign of Em. The puppy snuffled at his boots and Cassian reached down and scooped him up. ‘Just a few more minutes, Oscar.’ He took the pup outside to do his business and came back in. The minutes came and the minutes went, collecting into an hour.

  He got up and carried the puppy to the door, looking down the path for any sign of her. Perhaps she’d been delayed. Perhaps he should walk out and meet her on the road somewhere. But how could he? What direction did she come from? What might be the nature of her delay? Had she been unable to get away? Had she fallen ill? He wished he knew more about her. Right now he felt as if he knew nothing of her, nothing useful that would help him. He knew how she felt in his arms, how she kissed him, how she liked doing for him. He knew that she liked puppies, that she had a small family, that her father was stubborn. He knew that she liked melted cheese on toast, that she wanted to travel the world. But none of that would help him. If she didn’t come to the cottage, she would be lost to him.

  Cassian went back inside.

  * * *

  He waited another half an hour before admitting she wasn’t coming. ‘That’s all right, Oscar.’ He put out the fire and tucked the puppy into his coat against the cold and damp. ‘We’ll try again tomorrow.’ Perhaps her visit with the gardener suitor had been delayed, perhaps she hadn’t been able to get away. It was her birthday, after all—perhaps her family was celebrating. Cassian carefully rewrapped the food. Most of it would keep until tomorrow.

  * * *

  He came again the next day and the day after that, puppy, food and all, until the bread dried and he ran out of excuses for her delay. He had to face facts. Em was not detained. She simply wasn’t coming. Cassian sat at the table, head in his hands. Was this how it ended? Suddenly and without warning despite their pact? One afternoon they’d been lovemaking on the bed, promising to do decadent things to one another, wishing for tomorrow to come quickly, promising one another to be here, and the next she was gone. He thought he’d have more time. A couple of weeks at least, time for them to prepare for goodbye together as they’d promised each other at the cove. He wasn’t set to leave for London until the end of the month.

  Why hadn’t she come? A hundred horrible scenarios played through his mind. Did it have something to do with the gardener? Had she chosen him or been compelled to marry him? Had her family decided to keep a closer watch on her now that she might be betrothed? To another. The thought nearly made him sick. He didn’t want to think on it: his Em belonging to another, kissing another.

  He’d known an end would come—he could no more keep her than she could keep the puppy. So why did it hurt so much? He’d been wrong to think anonymity would protect his heart. He’d thought he couldn’t fall in love with her, at least not fall too far. But he’d been wrong there. He’d fallen far enough for her leaving to sting. Damn, but the Truscott brothers were ill-fated in love. He’d been prepared and armoured, he’d warned himself against such a thing, and it still hurt. His brother had not been half as prepared when he’d fallen for Audevere Brenley, Sir Gismond’s daughter. It was no wonder Collin had been devastated when she broke with him just weeks before their wedding. The Brenleys had played his brother false on all fronts.

  From his vantage point of the cottage table, Cassian had a new perspective on how that loss must have felt. It also gave him a renewed determination to make sure he didn’t let sorrow drag him down. He had to let go. It was time to say goodbye. Cassian took a final look around. The fire where they’d sat, the bed where they’d lain, where they’d flirted with lovemaking. He saw memories and he saw irony. He’d spent his adult life guarding against unscrupulous fortune hunters who would seek to use him as Brenley has used his brother. But in the end, it was love that had done him in. Well, best to learn that lesson now.

  Cassian took the note he’d written out of his coat pocket and propped it on the table against the chipped vase with its dried lavender. If she ever came again, at least she’d know he’d been here, that it hadn’t been his choice to leave her like this. Beside him on the floor, the puppy whined. Cassian reached down a hand and stroked the puppy’s soft head. ‘It looks like it’s just you and me, Oscar.’ As cute as the dog was, the idea lacked a certain appeal.

  Cassian rose and gathered up the pup. It was time to do his duty. He’d had a lovely spring reprieve, his project had been given every chance to succeed and it hadn’t. Blind, arbitrary hope had failed to produce the results he’d wanted. Now it was time for hard work and sacrifice. They would not fail him. He stepped outside and closed the door behind him with a firm thud. Em was officially in the past. All there was to do now was to move forward. He needed to focus on his amusement garden now and courting Redruth’s daughter. He could be married by autumn and he could break ground on the pleasure garden before another year passed. He was back in the game. The thought ought to have buoyed his spirits. It did not.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Redruth ball was well underway in all its glittering, chandelier-lit glory when Cassian arrived. He paused at the entrance to the ballroom. At his age, stepping over the threshold of a debutante’s ball meant one thing: he was declaring himself interested in marriage.

  Beside him, Inigo clapped him on the back in well-meant support. ‘This is a momentous evening. It’s a big moment. You’re the first of us to really throw their hat in the ring. Eaton skirted the issue altogether marrying in Porth Karrek on the sly. Vennor can use mourning as a shield a little while longer.’

  But not Cassian. He had no shields. Nothing protected his dreams but himself. If he didn’t go after that land with every weapon in his arsenal, the dream would be lost. To not at least try smacked of cowardice. Tonight would be the first engagement in his campaign. He would dance with the daughter and see where it led. Campaign, engagement, arsenal. These were war words, not love words. He ought to have a less violent view of tonight’s foray.

  Cassian tugged at his ivory waistcoat and straightened his shoulders. The past three weeks had led here. There had been flurry upon flurry of activity since the night he’d committed to coming to London. There’d been packing to see to, appointments with his tailors, arrangements for rooms at the Albany so he wasn’t underfoot at his father’s town house and, most importantly, there’d been acquiring the interview with Redruth. He’d met three days ago with the earl to discuss courting the daughter and to garner an invitation to the ball. The earl had been pleased his daughter’s presence in London had attracted the attentions of a duke’s heir.

  Cassian disliked the arrangement. He disliked being valued for his assets
and titles. Even more, he disliked having to use that card to get what he wanted. Furthermore, he disliked the necessity for duplicity. The Earl of Redruth had no inkling that Viscount Trevethow was the man behind the Porth Karrek Land Development Company, the very company that Redruth had refused to sell to. Yet, when those avenues had failed to acquire what Cassian wanted, what choice did he have? He felt the scales of good teeter, balancing his deceit against the greater good. The people hurt by his brother’s poor business sense were counting on him. Surely that outweighed his motives for courtship.

  ‘Well, once more into the breach.’ Cassian slid Inigo a look as they stepped inside. They wound their way around the perimeter of the ballroom, stopping to chat with friends as they made their progress towards the Earl of Redruth. Cassian was in no hurry and he certainly didn’t want to look desperate. He wasn’t desperate and nor was he nervous as Inigo seemed to think with all his ‘throwing his hat into the ring, momentous occasion’ talk. He felt nothing. His attendance here tonight was a professional business decision, nothing more. He wanted the land and he needed a different kind of currency to get it.

  His memories of Em carried a dulled edge these days. Those weeks in the cottage seemed like a dream now, something that had been vivid once, but had begun to fade. Even the image of her; all that caramel hair and those sea-glass eyes, blurred into something unreal by necessity. He couldn’t move forward if he focused on the past. What kind of a husband would he be if he spent his life mourning a woman whose real name he didn’t even know? There might not be a grand passion in this marriage of convenience he sought, but he hoped there might be something milder, respect, perhaps, that would grow over time. That would have to be enough. The greater good would be served.