Her mouth parted. He was in earnest. She could hardly wrap her mind around what had just occurred. Captain Kendricks had just offered his hand in marriage…to her.
Heat rose up her neck, settling on her cheeks. No, she had to be reasonable about this. He had clearly not made the offer out of love. It was more of a kind gesture, even a business proposition—so she would treat it as such.
A marriage between them certainly would sort out the issue with Trinity House and provide her with the help she needed to run the lighthouse. Indeed, her troubles would be over financially. But then, what about the captain?
“But, sir,” she began, her voice small as his thumb caressed the top of her hand, “what of your own life, the sacrifices you would have to make if we…if we went through with this?”
“The only thing I would truly be giving up,” he said, “is a life of uncertainty. I told you before, I did not know what I would do after leaving the navy, short of returning to my brother’s estate. And I assure you, I would gladly give up a life surrounded by land, finery, and elevated circumstances to live here.”
His eyes swept across the grounds, the lighthouse, the sea. Abigail could see the clear admiration in his expression, for it matched her own. He had fallen in love with Golowduyn. How had it taken her so long to see it?
Too easily could she picture her life with him. When she was a young girl, she had longed to find a handsome man she could marry. Together, they would live out the rest of their days in the lighthouse. As she grew older, however, she knew her imaginings were silly. Yet, there she was, being offered the chance to live out her childhood dreams with a gentleman, a captain—and more importantly, a friend.
She looked down at her hand still in the captain’s. How naturally they fit together. How her heart, her very soul, thrilled at his touch.
But when she noted the dirt beneath her fingernails, the truth of who she really was severed her hopes and her dreams.
Yes, Captain Kendricks was a gentleman. And she could not allow him to spend the rest of his days doing manual labor. Nor could she allow him to marry a woman with such a complicated and sordid past.
She took a step away from him, pulling her fingers from his grasp, and a coldness enveloped her, rushing through her body with an irrepressible wave. “I cannot, Captain.”
“Why can you not, Miss Moore?” he asked. “If you have reservations because you assume that…that I will expect what normally takes place within a marriage, please, don’t. Our relationship can be purely platonic. I would expect nothing but friendship.”
A blush flamed her cheeks, her hands still tingling from his touch. She must not have had the same effect on him if he could make such a promise without hesitation. Yet, when she stared into his eyes, the small flicker of uncertainty in their brown depths made her heart quicken.
“So, Miss Moore,” he said, clearing his throat, “what is your answer?”
His deep voice nearly penetrated the defenses she had strived to build since the man had crashed upon her shores. But she could not think about that day, nor the time they had spent together since. She could not dwell on her attraction to him any longer. She could not imagine how wonderful her life would be married to such a man.
Because he deserved a far better wife than a poor, deceased lighthouse keeper’s niece.
She turned away from him, dropping down to her knees in the dirt. “I am sorry, Captain. I cannot marry you.”
His eyes seared through her flesh, but she could not face him again. She could not allow him to see the tears falling from her eyes, sprinkling the weeds below.
She dug through the dirt—where Captain Kendricks did not belong—and pulled at the weeds until she heard him mount his horse and ride away without a word.
And she prayed that she would soon overcome the regret she already felt for rejecting the one man who had ever truly been on her side.
* * *
Abigail stared at her hands folded in her lap. She sat across from the banker in a small room in the inn, overlooking the streets of St. Just. A breeze blew in through the open window, rippling the sheer curtains and filling the room with fresh air.
But Abigail felt nauseated, lifeless—a mere shadow of who she had been before.
“Thank you for coming to meet me here, Mr. Whitham,” she said.
“Of course, Miss Moore.”
“I requested your presence here to inform you that I do not have the resources to pay off the mortgage. Nor will I in October.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
She could not swallow the emotion binding her throat. “What will become of Golowduyn?”
“We have had several prospective gentlemen interested in purchasing the land, but nothing will be settled until the documents are in order. Of course, the fate of the lighthouse will be in the hands of whoever pays the highest price.”
She knew having a gentleman purchase Golowduyn was inevitable, but to hear it aloud—that her greatest fears were coming true—caused her chest to constrict. She stood, making her way to the window to push it farther open. The hinges squeaked in protest. She closed her eyes as the wind played with the soft curls at her temples.
“You look ill, Miss Moore,” Mr. Whitham said, remaining behind his desk. “Allow me to pour you a drink.”
Abigail heard the trickling of brandy as it fell into the glass behind her, but she did not turn around.
This was not supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to have ever happened. She was meant to keep Golowduyn, to grow old there, have her posterity do the same.
She could not blame her uncle any longer. He had started it, yes—but she had ended it with a simple, misguided refusal.
Why had she not accepted Captain Kendricks’s offer?
“I know of a few workhouses in search of females,” Mr. Whitham continued. “You would be required to move farther north, though. If you prefer to remain in Cornwall, however, might I suggest finding employment as a maid of all work, or a scullery maid?”
Abigail opened her eyes, staring down at the busy street. She remained unnoticed, as if the world was intentionally trying to squeeze her out. People walked past with bright faces as they greeted neighbors and friends, a sea of tall hats and elegant bonnets, fine carriages and wrapped packages—none of them aware, none of them caring about her destitute state.
None of them…apart from Captain Gavin Kendricks.
The blood pulsed through her veins as she watched him ride up the busy street. He had not left St. Just then?
Her heart jumped. She was not too late. She could have a life outside of a workhouse and away from meaningless labor on an ostentatious estate. She could remain in Cornwall, forevermore at Golowduyn, with a man by her side willing to give up everything—for her to have everything.
She caught sight of the full saddle bags behind him, and a panic erupted within her.
“Captain?” She stuck her head through the window, hardly noticing the startled looks from those below. “Captain Kendricks!”
He looked over his shoulder, scanning the streets for the source of the voice.
She waved her hand back and forth. “Captain Kendricks, up here!”
Finally, he found her, a bewildered look on his face. He returned her wave and reined in his horse. She motioned for him to join her downstairs, and he nodded, though he still eyed her with confusion.
Swiftly, Abigail pulled her head from the window to see Mr. Whitham watching her as if she were mad.
Perhaps she was mad—mad enough to accept the captain’s offer, mad enough to marry a man she had known for mere weeks. But if being mad meant she could remain in her home, continue to watch over the seas nearby, and take care of Golowduyn forever, then mad she would be.
“Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Whitham,” she said in her calmest voice. “I will join you directly with…with my intended.”
“Your what?” he exclaimed.
But she had already fled from the room. She took the stai
rs two at a time, well aware of how unladylike she appeared. Her dress was spotted with stains that would not rub out, and her hair was a right mess, lopsided and already falling out of its pins. But she did not care. She needed to speak with Captain Kendricks.
She reached the door just as he entered the inn, his eyes falling upon her in an instant.
“Captain,” she spoke, breathless. She glanced around them, noting the eyes of more than a few others who focused on them rather than on their forgotten meals. “Are you available to speak for a moment?”
He nodded silently. They moved to an unoccupied corner of the room.
“What is it, Miss Moore?”
Her courage waned like a flame in a storm.
Did his offer still stand? Or was he set on leaving Cornwall to return to his brother?
Before her nerve could fail altogether, she pressed on. “Sir, if your offer still stands, I…I should like to accept it.”
His brow rose, but his voice did not reveal the same surprise. “May I ask what has changed your decision?”
She drew in a deep breath before rushing on with a simple, truthful explanation. “I realized I would be even more of a fool than my uncle if I chose living in a workhouse over a life with you at Golowduyn.”
His gaze flickered between her eyes, as if he attempted to discover her thoughts, so she ducked her head. “What have you to say, sir?” She raised one shoulder, wincing as she anticipated his denial.
“I say…let us save Golowduyn together.”
Her eyes flew up to see his softened expression, the corner of his mouth curved up. Relief rushed throughout her, causing an unsteady feeling in her limbs. “Thank you, Captain,” she sputtered.
But before she could fully clasp her hope, a disparaging thought hauled it away from her grasp. Her eyes dropped once more, and she laced her fingers together in front of her so tightly, they ached. “Before we go any further, sir, there is something you must know…something about my past.”
But he waved a soft hand between them. “If you desire to tell me something, then you may do so. But I require no confessions or promises to be made before we marry.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “But what if your decision to marry me changes once you hear what I have to say?”
“Does it make you think any less of yourself?”
“No, but others might.”
“Then you may keep it to yourself,” he said, “until you are ready to share it.”
She shifted her feet. “Are you certain, sir?”
“There is nothing you can say that would change my mind.”
And when she finally looked up to see his stalwart gaze, a small thread of hope managed to slip through the thick uncertainty covering her heart.
“Very well, Captain,” she said. “Then let us marry with haste.”
Chapter Seven
With Trinity House’s insistence on a male head keeper to run Golowduyn, Captain Kendricks had suggested they look into purchasing a common license the moment the debts had been paid. They could not risk waiting three weeks for the banns to be posted before they could marry.
Their wedding took place a week after they received the license. Abigail wore her blue Sunday dress—the only one not riddled with holes. Mr. Biddle, the vicar, married them, while his wife and Lieutenant Harris stood as witnesses.
Abigail had told Captain Kendricks to invite whomever he pleased, though she was relieved when he’d said he wanted a small ceremony as much as she did.
People would discover their union soon enough. There was certainly no reason to hasten the stares and whispers that would bombard them afterwards.
During the ceremony, Abigail hardly heard the vicar as he read from The Book of Common Prayer. She was too distracted with the fact that she was, indeed, marrying the handsome captain who stood beside her.
After the vows, scriptures, and prayers had been said, the vicar finished, and Abigail signed the parish registry in a daze. She thanked the Biddles and the lieutenant for their attendance, then followed her new husband out of the church.
Their journey back to Golowduyn was spent in silence. An odd sort of tension arose between them, a tension not based on anger, but on uncertainty concerning their new relationship. After all, she could think of no other marriage that began with a husband paying off his wife’s uncle’s debts—and ended with an agreement to run a lighthouse together, though they’d known each other for mere weeks.
But then, perhaps only she felt the discomfort, and Captain Kendricks was fine? He certainly appeared well enough, what with his pleasant expression as he peered out over the sea.
She pursed her lips. She would be fine soon, she was sure of it. She merely needed time to adjust.
But when they reached the lighthouse, matters worsened. Her new life glared right before her eyes as she and Captain Kendricks stood alone in the hallway of Golowduyn.
She fidgeted, looking anywhere else but at him as he regarded her curiously. She did not know what to say, what to do. It was as if she had lost all ability to behave as a normal person, simply because they were now married.
“I…” she began, crossing her arm in front of her stomach, “I think I will go change now.” And she darted down the hallway before the captain even had a chance to respond.
She closed her bedroom door swiftly behind her, leaning against it with a deep sigh. She was behaving ridiculously. She and the captain had been friends before all of this, so why could that not continue? Why did she feel the need to flee, to escape his presence? Nothing had changed between them.
Then again, everything had changed between them. Captain Kendricks was no longer her uncle’s guest in her home. He was her husband in their home. He had paid off her uncle’s debts. He had sacrificed everything for her to remain at Golowduyn.
So how could they continue just as before?
His footsteps thumped against the floor outside of her door as he entered his own room, no doubt to change, as well. A sudden thought popped into her head. If she finished dressing, perhaps she could begin her chores before the captain even left his room. Work would certainly distract her. It always did.
With renewed hope, Abigail threw off her Sunday best and pulled on her brown working dress. Within a matter of moments, she had changed and moved to open her door.
As she did so, the captain’s door opened simultaneously, and they both took a step forward, stopping just before they would have bumped into each other.
“Oh,” she gasped, pulling back.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to startle you.”
She shook her head, resting a hand to her chest. “It is quite all right.”
“Have you already forgotten that I live here?”
She looked up at him, his brown eyes dancing, and she flushed. “No, I…you merely surprised me, that is all.”
He quirked his eyebrow and motioned for her to precede him down the hallway. She moved forward with a nod of thanks. But when his boots sounded directly behind—and she sensed his eyes upon her—she suddenly forgot how to walk. Her right foot collided with the left, and she tumbled forward.
If tripping in front of Captain Kendricks had not been mortifying enough, having his hands wrap around her waist to catch her from behind certainly was.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his deep voice filled with concern.
She nodded. Her sides burned pleasantly where his fingers held her. “Yes.” She straightened, groaning inwardly at her inability to walk.
Was she a toddler on unstable ground? A newborn foal upon the hay?
No, she was a woman who was unsettled when her husband’s alluring eyes were upon her.
Taking a careful step forward, she pulled away from Captain Kendricks, despite her strange desire to linger within his hold.
She knew his eyes would be upon her even more so, in case she decided to trip over herself again, so she turned there in the hallway to face him.
That was another mistake.
Now her legs turned to preserves at the sight of his firmly set jaw and masculine lips.
She had meant to distract herself with something. What had it been? Oh, yes, work. To work anywhere she could not see the captain.
“You must be hungry, sir,” she said. “Why do you not take a moment to rest in the sitting room while I make up a plate for you?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “We did not form this union for me to rest while you toil away. I enjoy working, as you well know. So please, tell me what needs to be done, and I will see to the tasks straightaway.”
She hesitated. She had hoped some of her guilt over the captain’s sacrifices might have been alleviated had she worked while he rested. But if there was one thing she knew about the captain, it was his insatiable desire to help others.
Of course, there were worse traits for a husband to have.
“Very well,” she said. “The stable doors have come off again, so you may fix them if you wish. I’m certain the horses would appreciate proper shelter for once.”
“Excellent,” he said. “I will see to it directly.”
He walked away with quick, excited steps. Abigail stared after him until the door closed behind him. Instantly, silence encompassed her, deafening her ears.
Her plan had worked too well. She had only suggested that he fix the stables so he might work out of doors—away from herself. She had hoped the distance would have cleared her mind, distracted her from her discomfort. But now, all she wished for was to be near the captain once again, to be rid of the silence that had been her closest companion since her uncle’s death.
Her conflicting feelings only worsened as she walked from room to room, moved from chore to chore, unable to focus on anything other than Captain Kendricks—who she observed working away at the stables from each window she happened by.
She fancied her lack of focus was due to her desire to work out of doors, like the captain. After all, it was a beautiful day. She ought to enjoy the sunshine while it lasted. Never mind the captain’s presence out there. She could overlook him. She would simply work better with fresh air in her lungs.
Behind The Light 0f Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1) Page 12
