Abigail considered taking the note and slapping it across the woman’s face. But she merely snatched it from her fingers and withdrew inside.
She closed the door behind her and headed straight for the sitting room, where she flung the invitation into the embers without hesitation. The edges curled against the smoldering logs until a single, orange flame blossomed on the front of the paper.
Abigail had never been to a dinner party before. And she would certainly not have the Stedman’s be her first.
“They will not step foot in this house again,” she said as the writing on the invitation, Gavin’s last name—her last name—was swallowed in the flame. “Nor I in theirs.”
At the sound of an approaching horse, Abigail made for the door, wondering if Gavin had seen the Stedman’s departing carriage. But she stepped outside to find not the captain, but a postman.
He reined in his snorting horse pawing at the ground and extended a letter toward her. She walked down the steps and retrieved it with a grateful nod.
The postman rode away in a gallop as Abigail eyed the letter with curiosity. The postage had been pre-paid, and the letter was addressed to both herself and Gavin.
She turned the correspondence over to where the crest of Trinity House was pressed into the wax.
The establishment must have received her letter, informing them that she and Gavin would be married, and decided to send a congratulatory note.
She broke the seal and read the letter.
Captain and Mrs. Kendricks,
We are pleased to hear the news of your recent engagement and look forward to having the captain join our rank of head keepers. We are also pleased to see the strides you have both taken to ensure the success of Golowduyn Lighthouse.
However, as Mrs. Kendricks will be aware, after years of working alongside us, certain requirements must be met in order for our agreement to continue. Upon our last visit a few months past, we noted a number of things that had been grossly neglected. For your convenience, we have included a list of items that must be kept up to our high standards. This list will need to be completed in two weeks’ time. If it is not, Trinity House will have no choice but to forfeit your contract between us.
You may expect a representative to arrive in a fortnight to inspect your work. Until then, we wish you well in your endeavors.
Sincerely,
Mr. Philips of Trinity House
With a sinking feeling, Abigail poured over the list provided them. Most of the items included the general upkeep of the lighthouse. The property required trimmed grass, tidy grounds and gardens, and mended fences. The house itself needed fresh paint and new windows. The list was more extensive when referring to inside, covering everything from clean hearths and newly painted walls to fixed floorboards and well-kept furniture.
The task was impossible. They would hardly be able to order most of the necessary supplies—glass for the windows, slate for the roof, new tools—in the time allotted. There was no possible way they could accomplish what was required of them, as well as looking after the lamps every night and through every storm.
So what were they to do? With the list in-hand, her arm dropped to her side, and she stared up at the lighthouse. Nothing, nothing could be done. She had known the requirements from the beginning, and she had fallen short of them.
She swallowed hard.
The lighthouse was supposed to be safe. Her new life with Gavin was supposed to be simple. And yet, nothing was. Not while she still suffered with consequences of her uncle’s choices, consequences that spread their invading fingers through her life like a disease.
She wondered, yet again, if she would ever be free of the man she had refused to think about since discovering his debts, the man who had promised so much—and had delivered so little.
* * *
Gavin rushed home from St. Just, anxious to share with Abigail the good news he’d received while in town. After brushing down his horse, he entered the house and called out to her.
“I’m in the kitchen,” she softly responded.
He followed the sound of her voice to find her kneading a wad of dough on the kitchen table, her back turned toward him.
“There you are,” he said with a cheerful smile. “I have exciting news that I believe you will be pleased to hear.”
“Oh?”
His smile faltered with her less than enthusiastic response. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she responded. She sounded fine enough, but when she sniffed, he paused.
Was she…crying?
“Abigail?” He moved to her side, but she ducked her head, a few stray curls falling across her temples. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, I assure you.” Her voice broke.
He couldn’t understand it. What on earth happened while he was away?
“Did you order what you needed?” she asked, clearing her throat.
He hesitated changing subjects. After all, he needed to know what was wrong with her in order to help her.
“Yes, I believed I remembered everything,” he replied. “And…did you finish the chores that needed seeing to?”
“Nearly.” She lifted the dough from the table and slapped it back down. “The Stedmans called while you were away.”
Understanding finally dawned. Gavin recalled the conversation he’d had with Abigail long ago, when she’d ridden away from him after seeing the Stedmans in St. Just. It was clear there was a great animosity between her and the women. Though, he still could not comprehend why.
But if Abigail was in tears, then surely something terrible had happened.
“How long did they stay?” he asked.
She pressed her knuckles into the dough. “Only a moment. After they left, a letter arrived. From Trinity House.”
He narrowed his eyes. So the Stedmans had not upset her—Trinity House had? He rubbed his jaw. “What did they have to say?”
She motioned to the spot on the table next to her, though she did not stop her kneading. He noticed for the first time a large, leather-bound book and a stack of papers resting nearby.
“The letter is there if you care to read it,” she said, her voice becoming apathetic. Her tears had dried, though her eyes were still red. “Though I can summarize it for you, if you’d rather I do that.”
He stood beside her, eying her warily as he picked up the creased paper on top of the others.
He quickly scanned the words as she spoke.
“They said we must complete the list they have enclosed within a fortnight,” she began, her fingers digging into the mixture, “or we must forfeit our contract with Trinity House.”
Gavin’s eyebrows lowered. How could Trinity House give them an ultimatum, despite knowing Abigail’s previous plight with her uncle and lack of help?
He eyed the extensive list provided for them, shaking his head in disbelief. No one could complete so many tasks in that short a time, not even with an entire household to help.
“I will write to them straightaway,” he said. “We must request more time.”
But Abigail shook her head, rolling her palms across the dough with vigor. “No, they will not extend the deadline.”
His frustration grew. He had more than enough money to fund the lighthouse for years, even with no extra wages coming in. He had a mind to sever the agreement himself before Trinity House had the chance.
But to work with no oil provided and no pay apart from the occasional gratuity from passing sailors—it would be silly. He did not like the thought of working with an establishment who extended impossible demands, but it would be far wiser to remain in good standing with Trinity House.
So then, what were they to do?
He paused, and Abigail’s resolute words finally sank in from earlier.
“They will not extend the deadline,” she had said.
How did she know they would not allow them more time?
He glanced toward her as she worked the dough harder. Her jaw
was clenched, her lips pursed.
“Abigail?” he said softly.
She did not look up.
“Abigail, please. Stop.”
Finally, she paused, her arms straight, hands resting atop the dough. “I found documents…of my uncle’s.”
An uneasy feeling crept upon him. “What documents?”
She sniffed, removing her hands from the dough and wiping them on her apron before rifling through the papers Gavin had left untouched.
“These,” she said. “They were in his trunk. I did not have the courage to look through them until today, but now I wish I hadn’t.” He retrieved the letters she extended toward him. “These were from Trinity House last year. They told him that they would end the contract with us if the lighthouse did not begin to show improvements. They gave him months to do it, but in these letters, it is made clear that my uncle ceased behaving like the gentleman he claimed to be.”
She pointed to the middle paragraph of the letter Gavin held in his hands. “Read this.”
Gavin lowered his neck. “‘We understand your frustrations, though we have done our best to help. We have sent you the extra funds you have requested to hire another assistant. Keep us informed. And please know, that if you continue in your hostile way with your threats, Trinity House will be forced to take action against you.’”
Gavin stopped reading, though his mouth remained open with surprise. “He was threatening them?”
Abigail raised a shoulder, her eyes still focused on the pages in his hands. “I had no idea. Nor was I aware that they sent wages for another assistant. He always told me Trinity House refused their approval of us hiring another to help. I can only assume that Uncle used the funds for his gaming.”
A heaviness weighed upon Gavin’s heart. When would the lies, the deceit end? How much more damage could the deceased man cause to his niece?
He glanced up at her. A shadow of anger, of betrayal, dimmed her eyes.
She had been through so much. How was she to find the courage again to go on?
He watched her move to the large book on the table. She flapped the cover back and thumbed through the pages. “This is the logbook he kept for years before purchasing the one we use now,” she said. “He always insisted on completing the daily log himself, saying it was the one thing he could do that I could not. And now I know why.”
Her finger slid along the line that listed the wages received from Trinity House and the amount of money spent on supplies. “I’ve compared the dates on the letters from Trinity House to these. He falsified the numbers, then made it appear as if we needed more supplies. Again, he must have sold the extra provisions received and used the money to fund even more gaming.”
Her voice broke, and she finally looked up at him, her blue eyes brimming with tears. “This went on for years, Gavin. I had no idea we had become destitute merely because of his gaming habits. How could I have been so stupid, so blind as to not see what was happening?”
Gavin watched in silence as her demeanor changed, her brow lowering as she continued.
“I went without food,” she said, slamming the book shut. “I went without new clothing for years. We went without an assistant as I worked myself to exhaustion each day for months. To see now how he wasted our money, the money that I earned while he sat by and complained about his injury…I can hardly bear to think on it.”
Gavin winced at the obvious turmoil taking place within her. He was at a loss for words. He could not understand the man’s behavior either. How could Mr. Moore, Abigail’s only family, have done such a thing?
“He made me promise to keep Golowduyn,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “How could he? Knowing that he was leaving behind his debts, his secrets, and his lies? He was a selfish coward. Just like his brother.”
His brother. Did Abigail refer to her own father? She had never mentioned him before. In truth, Gavin had wondered at times if she had even known the man at all before his death.
But now was not the time to dwell on things he did not know. That would not ease Abigail’s burden. But then, he knew of nothing that would.
With a silent prayer heavenward, he asked for guidance to help him ease the woman’s pain in any way he could.
“Abigail,” he said softly, waiting until her eyes met his. “Your uncle, like all of us, was not perfect. I can only imagine the guilt that must have racked his conscience when he thought of you. It could very well be the reason he kept away from you—perhaps even the reason he drank. Of course, there is no excuse for his behavior. But no matter his mistakes, I believe that he loved you. Deeply.”
Her eyebrows drew together, her chin quivered, and Gavin could no longer keep himself from reaching out to her. He set the papers onto the table and wrapped his arms around her.
She returned his embrace, her arms sliding around his waist. “I fear his death was no accident,” she whispered against his waistcoat. “That he chose to…”
Gavin hushed her softly. “Do not dwell on such thoughts,” he urged. Of course, he had feared the very same. But they would never know the truth behind Mr. Moore’s death, and thinking on it would only drive them mad.
He rested his cheek against the top of her head, holding her securely within his arms.
“I am sorry you have married into all of this,” she said. “If only you would have known beforehand, you—”
“My decision would still be the same,” he interrupted.
She raised her head from his chest and looked up at him with searching eyes. Gavin’s breath caught in his throat.
Her auburn hair trailed down her temples in soft waves. Her high cheekbones had reddened slightly with her crying. And her lips, femininely curved, were parted, as if she wished to speak.
But in the next moment, she pulled away from his grasp and faced the papers on the table.
Gavin felt her absence keenly. He had enjoyed holding her against him…too much. Such a thing did not bode well for the relationship they had agreed upon.
He never once regretted his offer to maintain a platonic relationship, even now. After all, he would not have Abigail think for one moment that his proposal had been based on anything other than helping her and Golowduyn—for that is all it had been.
Of course, that did not mean he didn’t have hope for the future, that one day their friendship might grow into something more, something deep and abiding. But he knew Abigail was not yet at that point.
And he was more than happy to wait. After all, they had only been married for two days. And they had a lifetime left.
“Gavin?” Abigail stared at him expectantly.
He blinked. “Yes?”
“I asked what you thought we should do,” she responded, motioning to the papers on the table, “in regard to the list.”
The list. What could be done with the list? He picked up the paper, focusing on the items once again. “Well, I think it highly unlikely that we finish all of this in the time allotted. But I suggest we prove to them that we are, at the very least, willing to try.” He lowered the list and looked up to her, recalling the good news he had been excited to share with her when he’d first arrived home. “I spoke with Lieutenant Harris while in St. Just this morning. He was going to Penzance soon to wait for his arm to heal, but I suggested he come work for us for while he is on leave.”
She moved toward the wad of dough sticking to the table. “Can he help with his injury?”
Gavin pursed his lips. “I’m certain there is something on that list he could do one-handed.” His lip curved. “I know he would appreciate the extra funds while he awaits reassignment.”
“Well, if you think he will benefit us, then by all means, hire him,” Abigail said, sprinkling flour across the dough.
Gavin was pleasantly surprised with her agreeing to his offer. He pushed a little more. “I also heard word that Mr. Honeysett—do you know the young fisherman who lives nearby?” She nodded. “His mother and sister are looking to increase their income
, as well. They could work as our cook and serving girl in the mornings, as well as any other tasks that we may need help with before the inspection.”
She brushed aside a stray curl with her finger and left behind a trail of flour on her cheek. “Would you expect them to look after the light?”
“Oh, no, of course not,” he said, finally understanding her hesitance. “Not unless you wish them to.”
Her shoulders visibly relaxed, and she nodded once more. “Very well. I suppose with six more hands our work will seem light. Well…five more hands.”
He chuckled at her joke, and her sidelong glance. How remarkable she was. Even after discovering more about her uncle’s dark past, she was determined to make things work.
Yes, she was an amazing woman. Strong and beautiful. He reached forward, brushing his thumb across the flour on her cheek.
She looked up at him with wide eyes.
“I am sorry, Abigail,” he said with another stroke to her skin, though the flour had long since gone, “about your uncle, I mean. But I wish you to know, I am here to help you. You need not go through this life alone. Not anymore.”
And as she smiled up at him, he could finally say that for once, belief shone in her eyes.
And that was progress, indeed.
Chapter Eight
With Gavin’s help, Abigail’s mood improved drastically. Though still worried over the improvements of the lighthouse, she felt comfort in knowing she was no longer alone in her fight to keep Golowduyn burning brightly.
The very next day, she and Gavin had gone to the Honeysetts’ fishing cottage. They arranged for Mrs. Honeysett and her fifteen-year-old daughter, Poppy, to come to the lighthouse early each morning. They would help with the necessary tasks and prepare the meals for the day, before returning home to look after their own house.
After their agreement was settled upon, the Kendrickses made for St. Just in search of Lieutenant Harris. When Gavin stopped short of the inn, however, Abigail eyed him with a look of confusion.
Behind the Light of Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1) Page 14
