The Passions of Lord Trevethow

by Bronwyn Scott

  * * *

  The first invitation arrived the next morning along with a bouquet of wildflowers. The flowers had looked out of place in their simplicity against the enormous bouquets sent by others, but they meant the most, just to her. Even in this bouquet they had their privacy, their secrets. The flowers were a reminder of their visit to the enclosure. They were also proof that he’d listened. He’d remembered that little detail from when she’d confessed to sneaking out of the castle. ‘Put them in my room, please.’ She handed them off to a footman while her father was still agog over the invitation.

  ‘The theatre, my dear, tonight if we’re free. We are, of course. I’ll have your aunt cancel any plans. We’ll go. It will be a show of force. All of London will see that we approve and encourage Trevethow’s attentions.’ Her father handed her the note so she could read it too. After all, it was addressed to her. ‘Pizarro at the Covent Garden Theatre, it’s a tragedy.’ For a moment her father looked dubious. ‘Hopefully it’s not too bloody for you? Daniel Egerton plays Rolla and is said to do a passable job.’

  ‘I’m sure I will enjoy it,’ Pen put in quickly before her father could change his mind. They’d not been to the theatre yet and Pen was excited to go, no matter what the show, a treat that was marred only by her father’s satisfaction. He was getting what he wanted—a suitor hand-picked by himself.

  ‘London will enjoy seeing the two of you together again.’ Her father returned to his breakfast. ‘What do you make of him, Pen? I have great hopes for Viscount Trevethow, although it might too early to disregard a few others. Viscount Wilmington, for instance. He’s been most insistent. Your aunt said he was overtly disappointed yesterday with your disappearance. He told her he felt you should not have left with Trevethow.’ He’d also been quite overt about his intentions with the largest bouquet of them all usurping Wadesbridge’s pride of place on the drawing room mantel.

  ‘I think it’s too early to discard anyone.’ The last thing Pen wanted was the field narrowed. Narrowing fields meant funnelling her towards making a decision.

  ‘Still, being seen at the theatre with Viscount Trevethow will certainly boost your cachet.’ He smiled. ‘A duchess, Penrose. Just think how proud your mother would be if we could pull it off.’

  Pen only smiled. She didn’t want to argue with her father although she disagreed. She did think of her mother. Was that all her mother would have wanted for her? To marry well? That wasn’t the mother she remembered. Her mother would have wanted her to marry for love, for happiness. Her mother had been full of laughter, she’d had little use for rules and society. She’d insisted on raising her own children instead of turning them over to a bevy of nurses and governesses. She’d hated leaving them for time in London with her husband. She’d invented games and taken them on picnics in the hills and told them stories; Cornish fairy tales or tales she invented as they looked up at the sky. Her mother was fearless. She climbed rocks with Phin and swam in the ocean. She filled Castle Byerd with colour, with life. Then one day she was simply gone, taking all that colour and life and laughter with her. But her mother would never have meant for her to live imprisoned by fear. Her mother would have wanted her to live vibrantly, and Pen would, starting with the theatre.

  * * *

  The theatre was bustling with life as Cassian’s carriage pulled to the kerb in front of the Bow Street entrance, taking its turn to disgorge its passengers. Cassian handed Pen down, watching her face light up as she surveyed the Doric-columned facade. Cassian felt as if a shaft of sunlight had warmed him from the inside out. She stood still for a moment, letting humanity swerve around her as she studied the building. ‘They’ve modelled the theatre after Minerva’s Temple, haven’t they?’ she exclaimed, recognising the likeness. ‘I saw a picture once of the Acropolis in a book about Greece.’

  ‘I knew you’d like it.’ Cassian tucked her hand through his arm, feeling inordinately pleased. This was one adventure he could give her. There were other plays and other theatres, but he’d chosen this one on purpose for her appreciation of such details. He might not be able to take her to Greece, but he could show her a bit of Greece right here in London.

  He loved her enthusiasm. Inside, she wasn’t afraid to look around as she exclaimed, ‘I know it’s not polite to gawk, but I want to see everything!’ And everyone wanted to see her. Cassian kept a strong hand at her back, ushering her up the grand staircase on the left, stopping every few steps to greet people. Her enthusiasm was contagious, everything fresh and new through her eyes. When was the last time he’d been interested in the Box Saloon or the coffered ceilings or even noticed them? But with Pen, it was all brand new. He fed her excitement with stories and bits of information whispered at her ear. ‘The theatre was rebuilt after a fire in 1808—this one is larger than the original.’ Or, ‘There were riots here when the seat prices were raised to cover the building the expenses.’

  She looked over her shoulder at him with a smile. ‘Are you as well informed on every subject?’

  ‘There are some subjects I’d like to be better informed about,’ Cassian flirted, his eyes dropping to her lips. Too bad her family was near. He’d like to steal a kiss right here in the box for all of London to see, claiming her as his own. But for now, it was enough to be here with her, to give her this night, to prove to her that he was worthy and to hope that all else would follow.

  He settled her in a seat at the front of the box and saw to her family’s comfort before taking the seat beside her as the lights went down. Under the cover of darkness, he felt her hand grope for his. A moment later her head bent to his with a whisper. ‘Thank you for this.’

  His heart swelled at the simple praise even as his mind counselled caution. Would she thank him later? Would she believe all this truly had been for her if she found out about the land? This was the shard of guilt that had lodged itself in his conscience as he’d planned his campaign. His heart wanted her back, land or not. But his mind, his dream, his legacy, the guilt he needed to assuage over his brother, needed to win her. She was the key to his land. Without that land there was no pleasure garden, no boost to the Cornish economy, no jobs for hundreds of unemployed workers, no atonement. Perhaps he should tell her about the land. But how could he? This new burgeoning trust between them was too fragile. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet. There would be a better time, a time when she would understand, a time when she would know that he cared for her apart from the land. If she knew too soon, it would only prove to her what she already thought was true: that he was no better than any other suitor come to trade titles and money in a political alliance.

  * * *

  Those suitors came in droves at the intermission, crowding the box to such an extent that Cassian felt obliged to move the party out into the Box Saloon so that no one was crushed. Viscount Wilmington was one of the first to arrive, levelling daggers at Cassian for his interruption yesterday. ‘You’ve stolen her from us twice now, Trevethow,’ he joked loudly enough for the other gentlemen nearby to hear in hopes of garnering an ally with his feigned bonhomie. ‘It was a bold move, taking her for a drive in the Park. Perhaps I might try it myself.’ He arched an enquiring eyebrow Pen’s direction. ‘Might I steal you away for the last act, my lady? My box has a rather unique view of the stage.’

  Cassian was prepared to intervene, but Pen was cool beside him. ‘I think you’ve misunderstood yesterday’s events, Lord Wilmington. No one steals me. I make my own decisions about where I spend my time and with whom.’ She smiled to take away the sting.

  Wilmington gave a curt nod. ‘Another time, then. If you enjoy the theatre, I also have seats at Drury Lane.’ He bowed and made his farewells.

  Cassian watched him retreat with careful eyes. ‘He is quite intense where you are concerned.’ He might have made an enemy. He’d have to ask Inigo about Wilmington tomorrow. What was the source of Wilmington’s interest in Pen? Was it just the competition of the Season or did it s
tem from something more? The lights dimmed in warning for the final act and Cassian returned Pen to her seat. She’d been a revelation in the Saloon. Despite her claims of being overwhelmed by London, she’d handled the attention well, just as she’d handled it splendidly the night of her ball.

  Cassian leaned close. ‘Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?’ She had opted for a gauzy gown of rose-gold with satin striping. The effect was stunning. She looked softly alluring, managing at once to present the image of the debutante while also projecting intelligence and sharp wit. It was no wonder every man in the theatre had been drawn to her. Her hair was twined with a rope of pearls and behind one ear was a small, pink wildflower. ‘You’re wearing one my flowers.’

  ‘Yes. It was the most thoughtful bouquet I received. Wherever did you find them?’

  ‘I rode out to Hampstead Heath.’ He grinned. ‘We should picnic there and you can pick flowers to your heart’s content. Shall we? Tomorrow? I’ll call for you at one.’

  ‘Don’t we get to discuss this?’ she scolded.

  But Cassian simply smiled as the stage lights went up and replied, ‘No, the play is starting and we wouldn’t want to be rude.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  This was progress; lying on a blanket in the sun, the smell of sweet grass in the air, watching Pen weave a flower chain while bees buzzed, Oscar napped on the blanket and the May day behaved perfectly. Beyond them were her maid and his tiger, but they had privacy enough should they want to behave less properly than the weather.

  Pen held up a necklace of daisies. ‘There, I’ve made a lei in honour of King Kamehameha’s visit to London.’ The newspapers had been full of the Hawaiian King since his arrival on the eighteenth. But he’d been confined to his suites at Osborn’s Hotel until King George could receive him, or chose to receive him as some less favourable news reported. Some papers suggested the English King had no intention of meeting the Hawaiian King, or the Sandwich Island King, depending on which paper one read.

  ‘Are you interested in meeting them?’ Cassian propped himself up on one arm. ‘Secretary Canning is giving a reception for them in a few days. The Foreign Office has taken over the visit since the King drags his feet on meeting them. Canning has invited several dukes, Wellington included, along with the Duke and Duchess of Hayle and their son.’ He watched her eyes light up as she grasped his intentions.

  ‘Really? I could meet them? People from halfway around the world? People from a place I’ve only read about?’ She gave him an infectious smile. ‘Perhaps I should make some more English leis.’ Then she sobered and reached out a hand to touch his. ‘I fear you are spoiling me. First the theatre and now this.’

  He took her hand and threaded his fingers through it. ‘Why do you fear it? I mean to win you back, Pen. I am serious about that. You told me the other night at the ball that I was not worthy of you, that I was no better than any other sycophant in the ballroom. I want to prove to you that I am better, that I am worthy of you and your dreams.’

  ‘Please don’t.’ Pen tugged at her hand and he let it go, feeling as if a shadow had scuttled across the sun. ‘It’s not just that. I don’t want to be traded in marriage. I don’t want to be a pawn between my father and a man he’s chosen for me, or my husband’s pawn because my marriage settlement possesses something he wants. Marriage should be more. It should be trust, and honesty, and respect and love built between two people who want to share a life together, not just live in the same house.’

  Yes! Yes! Cassian’s soul wanted to cry out a chorus of yeses. Wasn’t this exactly what he sought in a mate? What he thought he’d lost when he’d come to London to claim Redruth’s daughter? Someone who wanted those things, too? But her next words dampened that enthusiasm. ‘I don’t know that you and I can have that, that we can get there after everything that’s happened, not just between us, but with my father. He chose you, the Viscount Trevethow. He picked you out for me. And you picked out Redruth’s daughter sight unseen. You were going to choose her over Em, always. No matter what you say about love, you chose duty first.’

  This was the argument he dreaded, the one for which he had no good answer. He had chosen duty over love when he’d come to London. Even if he hadn’t lost Em, he would still have chosen duty. How would she feel if she knew about the land? Perhaps he wouldn’t have to tell her, if they chose each other voluntarily, if she fell in love with him the way Em had with Matthew? It was the coward’s way out, but it was also the only way in which he could have both Pen and the land.

  He reached out and smoothed back a strand of caramel hair that had fallen in her face. He didn’t want to quarrel with her today, not with the sun out and this rare peaceful moment of privacy between them. London made it deuced difficult for them to be alone. He didn’t want to waste the opportunity. He picked up the lei in her lap and changed the subject. ‘How did you learn to make these? They look difficult.’

  ‘They’re not that hard.’ Pen plucked two daisies and handed them to him. ‘Copy me. First, you need to break off some of the stems to shorten them. Then, you can take your fingernail and make a slit right here on the stem.’

  ‘With a fingernail?’ Cassian arched a brow at the request and she laughed.

  ‘Or a knife if you have one. Ladies so seldom carry knives, you know. We must make do with what’s on our bodies.’ She passed him a second flower. ‘Now, you slide the stem of this flower through the slit, and repeat until you have a chain long enough.’

  Bodies, slit, sliding and repeating.

  Cassian shifted on the blanket. Daisy chains had suddenly become a rather sensual activity. ‘Who taught you how to make them?’ He was more interested in watching her face as she worked than in making his own. The task absorbed her entirely.

  She looked up with a soft smile. ‘My mother taught me. We used to make them when we went walking at home.’

  Ah. The hills. The place she went when she sneaked out of the castle. ‘And now you walk the hills alone.’ The afternoon became intimately quiet, the buzzing of the bees in the nearby lavender more pronounced in the stillness.

  ‘I’m not alone. I feel closest to her there. It’s where I have the most memories of her.’

  ‘You miss her.’ It was a statement. He could hear the longing in her voice—it was a tone he recognised too well. ‘What happened?’ Their fingers were flirting with one another again, slowly moving to the middle ground between them on the blanket. He reached for her hand. Sometimes touching helped people to open up, to feel safe with their disclosures.

  She didn’t pull away. ‘My mother was travelling to Truro to meet her sister. It was a sudden visit. Word had come early that afternoon my aunt, who was expecting a baby, was doing poorly and the child was imminent. My father was busy with the estate and couldn’t accompany her on short notice. He asked her to wait, but my mother felt she couldn’t delay. It had been a difficult pregnancy and my aunt was older.’ She looked up at him, the memory giving her gaze a far-off look as if she was seeing beyond him into the past. ‘It was one of the few times I’d ever heard them fight. My father denied her nothing and in the end he didn’t deny her this. He called for the coach and off she went. But the quarrel had delayed departure and part of the journey would be made in the dark. Her coach was set upon by highwaymen.’ Her voice caught and Cassian waited as she gathered herself.

  ‘You needn’t say any more,’ he assured her. He knew how hard it was to talk of the dead, how stirring the memories stirred other aches as well.

  ‘There’s little more to say. The coachman and the outriders were killed defending her. One of them lived long enough to report my mother had drawn a pistol on the leader and shot him through the shoulder. She’d gone down fighting.’ Pen smiled a bit at that. ‘I wouldn’t have expected it any other way. My mother wasn’t afraid of the world or of anything or anyone in it. She always said, “Live your life, Pen, and don’t worry i
f anyone else likes it. It’s not their life.”’ She sighed. ‘It’s not easy to do that. I wish it was.’

  Cassian heard the unspoken regret behind her words. Just the opposite had occurred. Pen’s life had become the life her father chose for her. She wasn’t free to explore the world. The world beyond Castle Byerd was limited to books and atlases. ‘Did they ever catch the highwaymen?’ Cassian asked quietly.

  ‘No. It’s been ten years. There’s no likelihood of that now. Perhaps they’ve been caught by someone else and found justice that way. Criminals don’t last long. That’s what I have to believe, at least, if I want consolation or if I want to move forward and not be paralysed by fear.’

  ‘Like your father?’ Cassian prompted. He was starting to see now how large of a role fear had played in her life in the years. Fear had been her ruler whether or not it had been her choice. So much had been decided for her out of fear.

  ‘Yes. My father regrets not stopping her. He regrets he wasn’t able to catch them, that he didn’t go with her.’

  Cassian nodded. ‘I felt that way when Collin died. I should have been there to stop it. I don’t know if that kind of regret ever goes away.’

  ‘That regret is eating him alive and the rest of us. He’s taken that regret out on me, ensuring that nothing will happen to me. If he can keep me safe, then somehow he is making up for not keeping her safe. In the meanwhile, in his attempt to save my life, he’s robbed me of it.’ Her words were raw with resentment. At last, here was the source of the cynicism he’d heard as they’d walked in the enclosure at the Park, the bitterness he’d heard the night they’d quarrelled in the library.