“Don’t be vulgar, little brother.” Caswyn dropped his coat over Morwenna’s shoulders. “I’ll go after your mare.”
Morwenna snatched at the coat to cover where the frog closures of her jacket had popped free of their moorings and her habit shirt gapped to expose a bit of embroidered stays and ruffled chemise. Her cheeks would have burned if not for the chill of the water tumbling from the heavens. “I was only funning.” Tristan backed away. “You can’t blame a man—”
“For not being a gentleman, of course you can.” Caroline rapped him on the shoulder with her riding crop. “I should advise her not to give you another moment’s notice.”
Tristan glared at her and stalked to his mount, who stood with its head down against the downpour.
“I’ll take you up behind me.” Jago dismounted. “My mount is the strongest.”
“She’s such a little thing, it doesn’t matter,” Caroline said.
“She’s rather perfect.” Jago grinned at Morwenna.
She used the need to slip her arms inside the sleeves of the too-large coat so her hands were free as an excuse not to respond.
Jago, apparently, needed no response. He grasped her around the waist and lifted her atop his gelding. Then he swung into the saddle in front of her. “Hold on.”
He was lean around the middle, as he was lean all over, not particularly broad in the shoulders. She gripped the pockets of his short, wool coat. Shivering from cold and mortification and the lingering hurt of suspecting the reason why her parents had abandoned her, she wished Jago was someone she could wrap her arms around—Drake, Grandfather, . . . David.
The warmth of Jago’s coat pockets sufficed for the moment. Despite the torrential rains, they took their time picking their way along the muddy, and thus slippery, track. In a few minutes, they came up with Tristan, then Caswyn, who had Demelza’s reins in hand to lead her home.
None of them spoke on the return to Bastion Point. The crack of thunder and tumult of rain on the trees made conversation difficult. In what seemed twice as long as their ride out had taken, they reached the house. Stable lads rushed out to take the reins, while the riders mounted the steps to enter the entry hall, shivering and dripping.
“What happened?” Grandfather emerged from the nearest parlor, Grandmother and Mrs. Pascoe in his wake.
“We got caught in the rain is all,” Caroline said. “Our apologies for soaking your floors.”
“No matter.” Grandmother began to issue orders for hot tea and blankets.
“Morwenna,” Grandfather asked, one eyebrow arched, “why are you wearing Mr. Pascoe’s coat?”
“Because I’m a hero.” Tristan grinned at Morwenna.
“You’re a nodcock, brother.” Caswyn rubbed his shirt-clad arms. “Though you did save her.”
“Save her?” Grandmother stopped in midorder to fix Morwenna with her green eyes.
“Demelza bolted.” Morwenna flung off Caswyn’s coat and, holding her jacket together, ran up the steps. She kept her head down so her soaked hair didn’t drip into her eyes.
And ran straight into David Chastain.
His arms closed around her. “My lady?”
“So terribly sorry.” She lifted her head. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Did I hurt you?”
“I’m a’right. But you?” His gaze touched her face like gentle fingers. He released her and brushed her hair away from her cheek with a light hand.
The rasp of his calluses on her skin sent a shiver racing through her.
He jerked back. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re wet through.”
“We got caught in the rain and—worse.”
Her wet habit shirt was transparent enough to show the embroidery on her stays.
“I had a bit of an accident,” she muttered, then fled the rest of the way down the corridor to her room. She stepped out again to call for the footman to send for a maid to assist her, though she didn’t know why she needed to bother with dressing. She wanted to remain upstairs, return to Penmara, go anywhere but into the presence of David Chastain. If she saw him again, she feared she might throw herself into his arms, they had felt so good around her.
David descended the steps and joined the party below because he wanted to know why Lady Penvenan had barreled up the steps looking as though she had been assaulted. Looking beautifully disheveled and appealing and things he shouldn’t think about but did.
He had thought about Lady Penvenan far too much in the days she went to absurd and obvious lengths to avoid him. He didn’t blame her for doing so. He had accused her of trying to kill him. Few things ranked higher in ungentlemanly behavior than telling a lady she was capable of murder. Yet why would anyone else in the parlor the day he was poisoned want to harm him? The older ladies’ involvement was surely out of the question. As for Rodda and Pascoe, David doubted they would wish to poison him to get rid of a rival. They knew he was no threat to their pursuit of Morwenna’s hand in marriage. They were of her class. He was a boatbuilder.
On the other hand, one or both of them could be involved in the wrecking. After all, Conan, Lord Penvenan, had been the leader of a smuggling gang.
Apparently the local miners and farmers listened to young men because of their social rank, their role as leaders due them by birth.
David wanted Rodda or Pascoe to be guilty rather than Morwenna. Unfortunately, he wasn’t so besotted with her he didn’t recognize that being a woman was no defense to criminal behavior. She could be up to her pretty neck with the wreckers.
Dissatisfied with all these conclusions, David continued to the parlor and the assembled party. Not until he was seated in the drawing room with the Pascoes, two Trelawnys, and Jago Rodda did David think he should have a care regarding what he ate or drank. A tiny voice in the corner of his mind whispered that he need not worry because Morwenna wasn’t there. He hushed it. Wanting to be near her and distrusting her at the same time seemed hypocritical or inconsistent at best.
He determined to watch whoever served him, but grew so engrossed in what had happened at the Penmara mines earlier he forgot until he had consumed a cup and a half of tea and one cake topped with a sugared violet.
He removed the violet and saved it with some romantic notion of presenting it to her ladyship. She wouldn’t want it. She could have as many candied violets as she liked with a mere request. But she had looked to enjoy herself so much eating one the other day, he wanted to ensure she was able to again despite her absence.
He didn’t think Lady Penvenan enjoyed herself much these days except when she played with the dogs on the beach, running and laughing with abandon like a girl with no cares.
Her cares were likely more than he knew, and those were enough. Today’s embarrassing incident added one more burden to her slender shoulders. When Mrs. Adair concluded the story, everyone laughed except for Tristan, who glared at his siblings.
“Lady Penvenan was never such a prude,” Tristan muttered.
“I think we overset her with talk of her parents going after an emerald mind,” Mrs. Adair said.
David started, wondering how he could ask what she meant by that.
A strange quiet fell over the drawing room, broken by the lash of wind and rain against the windows. David didn’t so much as want to lift his cup for fear it would make too much noise rattling against the saucer.
Then Morwenna walked into the room. Once again, she wore a frothy pink dress that brought a rosy hue to her creamy skin. David remembered touching that skin, finding it as flawless as, but far warmer than, the porcelain cup beside him, and he barely found the stamina to stand at her arrival, so weak did his knees become.
“Money and lives wasted on imaginary emeralds.” Contempt dripped from Morwenna’s voice. “All while Penmara’s mines lay silent and men here are out of work. Is that tea still hot?”
Immediately, the other men flanked her, walking her to a chair, fetching her tea and cakes, all but lifting her feet onto a footstool as though s
he were a queen. She accepted it with quiet grace, but once she was settled, she met David’s gaze from across the room and winked one of her sparkling dark eyes.
Oh, how could he suspect her of anything?
She waved the gentlemen to sit, and talk commenced regarding some sort of party at the Roddas’. David realized he wasn’t included in the plans, made his excuses, and left the room. He did gather up the sugared violets he saved from his cakes, wrapped them in a handkerchief with care, and removed himself to his chamber.
Already the storm was blowing itself out, leaving as swiftly as it had come. A bright line along the western horizon suggested sunlight before dusk. Not bright enough to help David draw, so he lit the lamps and set to work on the other peculiar part of his brother’s letter.
Father had notes about a seagoing vessel, not something for Channel runs, but a true seagoing vessel. Do you know anything of this?
David didn’t, but he would give the design a try. They couldn’t possibly build such a thing now that the money was gone, but he could dream of multiple masts, a jib sail in front and a spanker behind, something graceful and fast, yet sturdy, something like the Americans were building.
As usual, the work absorbed him until a footman called him to dinner. “Unless you would care for a tray in your room.”
“I’ll go down.”
Trays in his room were convenient but lonely.
Tonight the company consisted of the Trelawnys, Morwenna, and David seated at a gate-leg table before the fire in a cozy parlor. Though the storm had blown across Cornwall, a chill remained in the air and the parlor was a haven of warmth. So was the family gathering. They had received letters from across the ocean that Lady Trelawny said she would share after the meal.
They spoke of the storm, the oddness of a gentle horse like Demelza bolting over a mere hat, and a party Mrs. Adair wanted to give.
“No dancing,” Lady Trelawny said. “It’s Lent.”
Morwenna shrugged, lifted a forkful of beef to her lips, then set it on her plate again. “Grandfather, Grandmother, did my parents truly go off seeking an emerald mine?”
“They did.” Sir Petrok’s face creased into sorrowful lines. “I told them it was a fool’s errand, but they had a map and money from a previous excursion, so I couldn’t stop them.”
“Branek should have been born two hundred years ago.” Lady Trelawny smiled, her eyes misty.
“Ridiculous.” Morwenna snorted.
“Morwenna,” Lady Trelawny admonished, “that is such a vulgar noise. What will Mr. Chastain think of your manners?”
He thought her amusing and charming with her forthrightness of feeling when she thought something absurd.
Lady Trelawny rang a little bell beside her plate. “Is everyone ready for coffee?”
Servants entered to clear the table and set out coffee and sweetmeats. Once they were gone, Lady Trelawny opened one of the letters.
“Elizabeth and Rowan are finally increasing their family.” Lady Trelawny’s exclamation broke into the moment of quiet. She fairly glowed with the news. “It should arrive—oh my, this letter took six months to reach us.”
“I don’t want to know how it reached us.” Sir Petrok’s grumble belied his grin.
“She said she couldn’t get it to anyone sooner, so has added a note at the end. It’s a boy. And they’ve given him a rather American-sounding name. Zachary. What sort of name is that?”
“I believe it is a more modern way of Zachariah, ma’am,” David said.
“You clever lad, of course it is.” Lady Trelawny resumed her perusal of the letter.
Across from David, Morwenna said nothing. He hoped he could have a moment with her perhaps after the coffee.
He found more than a moment. After dinner, the Trelawnys settled at one end of the parlor, and Morwenna led David to a game table at the other end. “Do you know how to play Spillikins?”
“I’m rarely beaten.”
“Indeed?” Morwenna poked her nose in the air. “We shall see about that. I am considered the best around here now that my sister-in-law no longer lives in Cornwall.”
“Prepare to lose that title, my lady.”
“How ungentlemanly of you.”
David laughed. “But I am no gentleman. I’m a poor boatbuilder.”
Morwenna sobered. “Are you poor? Not that I have any right to ask.”
“No, you do not, but I’ll speak truth. A month ago I would say that I am not. Today . . . the Chastains are poor with only a hope of rebuilding what was stolen from us.”
What her parents might have stolen from them. But why would they want to?
“I understand how one can work all day and still wonder where the next meal is coming from.” Morwenna held out the can of colored sticks. “Pick one to see who goes first.”
He dipped his hand into the canister and came out with a long, thin stick painted yellow. Morwenna chose a fat green stick.
“You go first.” She poured the sticks onto the table.
And the game was on, with his engineering training teaching him how one part was part of a whole. His sister, who never won, said he had an unfair advantage. He knew how to study the pile of sticks and choose the ones least likely to be holding up others, where removing them would cause a collapse of the mound.
Morwenna’s advantage might have been her looks, able to distract the strongest of male hearts, except she didn’t flirt or flutter. She studied each stick with care before choosing.
“I’ve been reading about mining,” she admitted when she won the first game. “How they support deeper shafts. If I’m going to reopen Penmara’s mines, I need to know what it’s all about.”
David opened his mouth to express his awe, but the Trelawnys rose at the far end of the room, and he stood out of deference for a lady standing. Disappointment ran through him at the notion the evening must end. Relief that the evening would end followed. Too much when alone with Morwenna, he wanted things he should not, like believing her innocent of wrongdoing, like wanting to spend more time with her, like simply wanting her.
“We’re off to our chamber,” Lady Trelawny said. “It’s been an eventful day for two old people like us.”
“Good night then.” Morwenna stood with her hands folded in front of her like a miniature shield.
David bowed. “I expect I’m off to mine, too, if I may find another book.”
“No need.” Sir Petrok slipped a hand beneath his lady’s elbow. “You’re well enough chaperoned with the footmen outside the door.”
“We’ll leave it ajar,” Lady Trelawny added. “No need to let Morwenna win for the evening.” She flicked a glance at Morwenna. “Be kind to him, child.”
Morwenna lifted her chin in the air. “I play to win.”
“You are, after all, a Trelawny.” Sir Petrok closed the distance between himself and his granddaughter and kissed her cheek. Then he shook David’s hand without a single word of warning as to his behavior and returned to Lady Trelawny, taking her arm again and escorting her from the room.
Morwenna blinked hard a few times, then spun back to the table. “Another game?”
“I have to regain my pride somehow.”
David took his seat. They drew sticks, then spilled the collection onto the table and began again. Neither spoke much. They concentrated on keeping the pile from collapsing, laughing when it did, cheering when it did not until the game ended with David the victor this time.
“Best of three?” Morwenna suggested.
David glanced at the clock. It was going onto midnight. “If you’re not too weary after your disturbing day.”
“Mortifying is more accurate.” Morwenna scooped the sticks into the canister. “Would you like some tea, some cordial?”
They sent for tea. It arrived with cakes and David remembered the candied violets. Avoiding her eyes, he pulled them from his coat pocket. “You didn’t eat anything this afternoon, and I thought you might be missing these.”
�
��You saved them for me?” She looked as pleased as though he had given her a fine piece of jewelry. “How thoughtful.” She pinched up one of the flowers and stuck it between her lips. “Mmm. I missed these after leaving here.”
“I wish I had more for you.”
“I shouldn’t get used to having them around. There won’t be luxuries like candied violets when I return to Penmara.”
“When will that be?”
“As soon as you leave.” She held up her hand. “We aren’t suggesting you leave. You may stay until you are comfortable leaving on the long journey home.”
“I still need to find out more of what happened to my father.”
“We’ll go to Falmouth next week.” She shook the can of sticks. “One more game?”
“One more.” Or ten, anything to preserve this quiet time when the world and suspicions seemed foolish and far away.
Morwenna won again. “You shouldn’t have pulled that red one. According to what I’ve been reading, an angled support can balance more weight.” She went on to explain precisely why that was so, something he should have known but hadn’t.
“You are a remarkable woman.” David spoke with awe.
“Oh.” She ducked her head as she scooped the sticks back into their canister for spilling out again. “I think that’s the nicest compliment anyone’s ever given me.”
“I doubt that.”
“Don’t. Compliments of my looks are too easy.” She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes in a flirtatious move. “But you wouldn’t know anything of that.”
“I know you are beautiful, aye.”
“I’m referring to you, and you very well know it.”
“I didn’t. That is to say . . . I did not.” David resisted the urge to press his cool hands to his hot cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” She touched his hand on the table.
He turned his hand over and cupped her fingers in his. “I think you did, but I would rather you didn’t flirt with me.”
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