Lowena looked at her, struggling with her inner self. Nessa could almost feel her anguish.
‘But I have to go, Nessa.’
Nessa nodded. Lowena was old enough to make up her own mind. ‘Then write to Sir Robert. How do you think he would react if you were to turn up on and announce you are his daughter? The man might have a seizure on the spot. In a letter you can tell him about yourself and what happened when you were born.’
‘I can’t wait that long, Nessa.’ Suddenly a sharp, determined light entered her eyes. ‘I have the answer. I will go with you when you leave for Saltash.’
The idea had appeared fully formed in Lowena’s head, the words uttered before she had thought about them.
‘But I leave in a few days, Lowena. You cannot just up and leave Tregarrick without telling Lady Alice what you intend. I ask you to consider telling her what you now know about your family.’
Lowena shook her head. ‘Until I have seen and spoken to my father I would prefer to keep it to myself—should I wish to return, you understand. I shall speak to Lady Alice and request some time away. Please say you will take me with you, Nessa. We could travel to Saltash together.’
Nessa nodded. It was the least she could do after keeping the truth to herself all these years. ‘Yes, all right, but I can’t say that I approve of you leaving without being honest with Lady Alice.’
* * *
As Lowena made her way slowly back to the cottage and the reality of this new situation dawned on her she was bewildered and confused by the sudden turn of events in her life. After a lifetime of wondering, at last she knew who she was. She also knew that her mother was dead, which saddened her deeply. Was her grandmother dead also? Lowena was angry with her for treating her mother the way she had.
Now her mind was made up to go to Devon, her attitude had changed dramatically. She knew who she was. She had an identity and—more important than anything else—she had a father. Now, for the first time in her life she had hope for the future...something to aim for.
What she would do if Sir Robert Wesley didn’t want anything to do with an illegitimate daughter she didn’t want to think about just then.
* * *
Lady Alice was both surprised and concerned when Lowena told her she would like to have some time away to accompany Nessa to Saltash, but she raised no objections. Unfortunately the same could not be said of her son. He had asked to speak to her in the library, which he also used as his study.
When she entered he rose from the desk where he was working and moved to the front, leaning his buttocks against the edge, his arms crossed as he stood and watched her enter.
His attention was drawn to her. Her hair was neatly pinned up, and her face all rosy from the heat of the kitchen, but it was tense, which told him she was under great strain. He was anxious to fathom her mood, but when he had known her before as a quick-tempered, provocative and passionate young woman, he now perceived in her an air of quiet seriousness. Perhaps the tribulations of the past few days had stripped the humour from her. She bore no hint of the happy, charming Lowena he remembered of old, or the feisty young woman who had so courageously shunned Edward’s amorous assault.
‘Close the door, Lowena. I think you know what I want to speak to you about.’
Lowena quietly did as he asked. She was still angry with him for wanting her to leave.
Why had he done this to her? Why had she done it to herself? How could she have allowed such a thing to happen—let herself be swept away on a tidal wave of passion? How could she have succumbed like some green girl to the coercive, compelling force of this man’s masculinity? Yes, she had loved him secretly since she was sixteen years old—but why could she not have kept it that way, without humiliating herself and blurting it out like an overheated village girl, exposing her innermost secret to the scrutiny of another?
And then there was what had come after. If only she could undo what had happened in her bed. The memory of it and the pleasure she had experienced flooded through her again. She flushed with embarrassment, realising how forward she must have seemed and how it had ended a friendship she had cherished.
She moved further into the room, her eyes broodingly sad. Gazing up at him, noting his usual careless elegance, she waited for him to speak. Her heart beat madly as her eyes searched his granite features. She saw no sign of the passionate, sensual side to his nature, of the man who had held her and kissed her with such tender passion.
‘I’ve spoken to my mother, Lowena. She has told me you are going away. I was hoping you would stay until we had discussed your future further.’
‘But you have told me I have to leave.’
Pushing himself away from the desk, Marcus strode across the deep carpet to stand ominously in front of her. He looked at her hard, scrutinising her face, realising that their earlier conversation had prompted this. But he suspected there was something more that she wasn’t telling him.
‘Why don’t you tell me the real reason why you are going away? I would advise you to think very carefully about doing so until you have somewhere definite and suitable to go.’
Lowena could feel her own ire bubbling up inside her, but she could not seem to find the strength to fight back. How dared he question her actions? How dared he feel that he had the right to do that—to order her about as though she were his to direct, as though he had a perfect right to do so?
She tried to hold in the resentment she felt, to be dignified, but it was very difficult and her expression was hard. ‘As I informed Lady Alice, Nessa is leaving for Saltash to take care of an elderly aunt. I have decided to go with her.’
Marcus raised one thick, well-defined eyebrow, watching her. ‘Why? Are you not well?’
Drawing herself up straight, and with as much pride as she could muster, she looked at him squarely. ‘I am perfectly well. I have worked constantly for months—ever since Izzy died. I would like to go away for a while—to consider my future. When Nessa told me she was going to Saltash I thought it the perfect opportunity.’
Uneasy about being alone with him, she was conscious of a sudden tension and nervousness in her. She was uncomfortably aware of their last encounter, and the scene flashed into her mind with all its searing pain and bitterness.
‘Earlier, you told me you want me to go,’ she went on, ‘to leave Tregarrick. I have given it some thought and I agree with you. I think it would be in my best interests. But I will make my own way—I am my own mistress. For the first time in my life I will take control of my future.’
Despite instigating this whole situation, and being furious with himself for doing so, Marcus wanted to argue, to tell her he didn’t want her to go, to persuade her to stay. But his mind was made up. Besides, he would see her again when she returned from Saltash.
‘I respect that. When will you go?’
‘Lady Alice has been very kind to me, and has said I can leave with Nessa. In fact what I would have done without her when Izzy died I cannot imagine. But that does not mean that you can take me over. However, I shall be eternally grateful for all you have done for me.’
The strain of hiding the heartache she would feel on leaving took away all the anticipation of going to find her father.
Marcus’s eyes had turned warm with concern. She looked tired, and behind that calm exterior he sensed she endured a turmoil of distress. Something was wrong other than what had transpired between them. He could sense it, but he couldn’t work out what it could be.
He stood with his hands behind his back, his face carefully blank, while all the time he wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, kiss and soothe her and tell her he was going to make everything all right, that he could not bear to think of her where she was not under his protection. And yet, remembering the deep division that stood between them, how could he?
Lowena’s face was
pale as she turned from him but, unable to let her just walk away, he reached out and took her arm, spinning her round to face him.
She shook his hand off. ‘Please don’t touch me. My mind is made up. You’ve had all you’re going to get out of me.’
Turning on her heel, resolutely she crossed to the door. Her heart and mind felt empty, and she was chilled to the marrow—and even now, when she was desperate with the thought of leaving him, she had to ask herself why it should hurt so much, and to question what was in her heart.
When the door had closed Marcus felt his heart move painfully beneath his ribs, aching with some strange emotion in which shame and sorrow were mixed. Of all the women who had passed through his life, not since Isabel had he wanted any of them as he wanted Lowena. What was it about her? Her smile? The touch that set his heart beating like a callow youth in love? Her innocence? Her sincerity? And why was he sending her away?
He hadn’t expected her to want to leave immediately, and the fact that she was so adamant to go had both surprised and completely thrown him.
He frowned and went to pour himself a drink, throwing it back in one. Whatever was wrong with him, it was not love. He was immune to love. And yet Lowena affected him deeply.
The thought that she was walking out on him was a growing torment. But she had told him she would come back. He would hold on to that.
* * *
Lowena packed her possessions into a bag—not forgetting the baby clothes she had been wearing and the blanket she had been wrapped in when Marcus had found her. She left the house quickly. There was no point in delaying a parting that to her was unbearable. Marcus and Lady Alice had no reason to believe she would not return, but Lowena’s mind was made up.
One of the grooms drove Lowena and Nessa to St Austell, where they joined the London stagecoach. When Lowena climbed inside, with a thousand emotions warring within her heart, she was holding herself erect, her head held high. Retaining such a posture was the only way she could prevent herself from losing control. Under no circumstances must she allow herself to cry.
Taking the southern route, the coach avoided the bleak and barren landscape of Bodmin Moor. As they left the West Country behind the scenery became greener. Never having travelled further than St Austell, Lowena was transfixed by everything she saw. They spent the night in the coaching inn at Liskeard and the following morning set off for Saltash, after taking on armed guards—for the open land between Liskeard and Saltash was an ideal place for highwaymen.
The journey was long, and rain, shrouded the landscape, making it murky and grey. It did nothing to lift Lowena’s spirits. She was trapped in the coach with only strangers and Nessa—and she was soon to be parted from her.
Inside the confines of the coach, as it jolted over the rough roads, Lowena spent the entire journey telling herself she had done the right thing—that she couldn’t have remained at Tregarrick any longer. And by the time the coach pulled in at Saltash she had convinced herself. It was better this way. There was no choice. For the sake of her sanity she had to break all contact with Marcus Carberry, she decided, even though it would break her heart to do so. It was no good waiting for fate to take a hand. Fate had never been an ally of hers.
Overwhelmed by the significance of the moment, she felt she was standing at a crossroads, with paths stretching out in every direction, each one leading to an uncertain future. Everything that had been before, everything that was yet to come, depended on what she decided to do now.
The closer she got to Devon, the more the sadness that had lurked in her eyes on leaving her beloved Cornwall faded, and was replaced by an eagerness that gave vitality and sparkle to her face. The die was cast. She had made her choice. What remained was a determination to see things through, whatever the consequences.
But images of Marcus Carberry—of his silver-grey eyes filled with passion, the curve of his lips as he kissed her—were so powerful they hurt and brought tears to her eyes. Of course deep down she had known nothing could come of it, and it was a relief now there was some distance between them, but it was no less painful for that. Her pride was battered and her heart was bruised.
Little by little self-consciousness and embarrassment at having revealed herself so openly and so unexpectedly began to give way to regret.
Lowena said a heartfelt farewell to Nessa at Saltash, where she left her, and then the coach crossed the Tamar into Devon. Following Nessa’s instructions, and using the transport available between villages, she eventually found herself close to Castle Creek—so named because of the deep cleft in the cliffs on which it stood.
The weatherbeaten coastline and high, rugged cliffs were exposed to all the elements visited upon them from the sea. But, solid and steadfast, the large house with crenelated battlements stood high above the small village. It must be bitterly cold when the winter gales blew, with giant rollers crashing onto the beach, but on this drowsy day of late spring it was a beautiful place to be, with the gentle Devon countryside to the north and the shining emerald and sapphire sea facing south.
Seeing no one as she passed through the tall iron gates and by the gatehouse, she walked up a long drive lined on either side with beautiful lime trees. Her steps slowed as she approached the house. Not having given much thought to how she ought to proceed when she had knocked on the door, she was suddenly reluctant to go further.
Clutching the bag holding her few possessions, she stood and stared at the solid double doors, feeling an odd sense of unreality. Overcome with doubt she stood in an agony of indecision—whether to go forward or to retreat and return to Nessa in Saltash.
She was startled when a voice rang out behind her.
‘Can I help you?’
Lowena swung round. A man was walking towards her. There was an air of authority about him. Tall and slender, he was middle-aged, with a good head of hair which was greying at the temples but might once have been the colour of her own. She felt an almost physical shock, for she realised that her eyes bore a startling resemblance to this man’s. Despite the lines of age, his was a handsome face, and the eyes that looked at her were friendly.
He looked suspiciously at the young woman coming tentatively towards him. Despite her plain attire, she was very lovely. ‘Will you be good enough to tell me who you are and what I can do for you?’ he said, his eyes still fixed on her face.
‘I would like to see Sir Robert Wesley.’
He was looking at her with the bemused expression of one who had seen a ghost. A thought had occurred to him that was so astonishing, so incredibly devastating, that his heart almost ceased to beat.
‘For the love of heaven! Who are you?’
‘My name is Lowena Trevanion. I believe you are my father.’
He stared at her as he tried to absorb what she had said, and then his face seemed to crumple. ‘Meredith!’ he uttered in a shaky voice. ‘Meredith...oh, my God! But—how is that possible? Meredith is dead.’
‘Yes, I know. I am sorry. This is all so sudden. I realise it must be a shock for you, but look at me. Look at me more closely.’
He came closer.
‘Look at my eyes and my colouring and tell me I bear no resemblance to you. I am your daughter. Meredith Beresford was my mother.’
He fell silent, all doubt as to who stood before him extinguished. He seemed completely overcome. There was something about her...something in her face that bore a strong resemblance to Meredith. How well and how lovingly he remembered her.
Still staring at her, eyes wide with perplexity, he smiled slowly, and an odd tenderness glowed in his eyes.
‘Dear me! You must forgive me, but... Well, I am shocked. I did not know. You are so like her. I should not even have had to ask. Except for your colouring—and your eyes...’
‘I believe my colouring comes from you,’ she said softly, seeing a mistiness in eyes
undimmed by age.
‘But Lady Beresford—Meredith’s mother—she told me... Oh, my dear Lord. She deliberately kept your birth from me. She did this—and said nothing to me. That she could do this I find unbelievable. The woman was more loathsome than I thought. But—please—come inside.’
‘Do you live alone?’ she asked, wondering if he had a wife.
All the time she had been travelling to Castle Creek one single thought had occupied her mind—to find her father. It had not even crossed her mind that he might have a wife, perhaps other children. She found herself hanging back, unwilling to intrude.
‘I have a wife. Her name is Deborah. She is the daughter of Lord Lerwick of the Admiralty. We met when she accompanied her father to Plymouth. At present she is in London—where she spends most of her time. I’m to join her shortly. She doesn’t care for Devon or its solitude.’
‘Unlike you, I suspect?’ Lowena ventured a little shyly.
He smiled. ‘Unlike me,’ he confirmed. ‘Now, come inside. I would very much like to hear what you have to say.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me coming to see you. This is a sensitive issue. We—we are strangers to each other.’
He chuckled softly. ‘We needn’t be. It’s not every day a long-lost daughter turns up on my doorstep. I have no intention of turning you away. Come in.’
Lowena let him escort her up a shallow flight of steps and into the house. She was so overwhelmed with the sense of occasion that she hardly noticed the grandeur of the house as he led her into a comfortable sitting room off the large hall.
‘Please,’ he said, indicating a chair across from his own, ‘will you be seated?’
Lowena did as she was bade, sitting stiffly, perching straight-backed on the edge of the chair, and waited until he had settled himself.
‘Tell me, Lowena, how long have you known I am your father?’
‘I only found out a few days ago. I—I know I should have written before coming here, but—well—all my life I have never known who I am, where I came from, and now...’
The Foundling Bride Page 14
