by Mary Balogh
But if she was over Kit, what was there to stop her from loving Josh?
She dared not love him. Even though he was not nearly as shallow a person as she had taken him for when they were in Bath, he nevertheless was not a man it would be wise to fall in love with. He did not intend making his home at Penhallow or anywhere else. He was eager to get back to his life of shiftless wandering. His frivolous life, as he had described it yesterday.
And yet yesterday she had not been sure she believed him. . . .
Tomorrow-today-she was going to go over to the island with him. Just the two of them. And there could be no pretense of innocence.
Are you willing to face such danger? And I am not referring to the boat ride.
I am willing.
I may not be able to keep my hands off you, sweetheart.
Perhaps I will not be able to keep mine off you.
Freyja shivered after all in the predawn air and went back to bed, but she did little more than doze and wake until she could decently get up and venture from her room.
Early as she was, Joshua had already gone out to the home farm with his steward. Aidan and Alleyne had gone with him. Freyja remembered then that she had promised to spend the morning writing invitations to the ball with Morgan, Constance, and Chastity.
The guest list was a long one, she discovered, when she joined the others in the morning room after breakfast. She wondered if anyone within a five-mile radius of Penhallow had been omitted and realized how typical it was of Joshua to be so egalitarian despite his elevated rank. She tried to imagine Wulfric hosting such a ball and found herself smiling at the absurdity of the thought.
"Can you imagine Wulf with such a guest list, Morgan?" she asked as the four of them settled to their task.
"Or us attending such a ball?" Morgan said. "Wulfric is our brother the duke," she explained to the other two ladies. "He is extremely high in the instep."
"Joshua does not see this ball as an elegant social event for those of elevated rank," Constance said. "He sees it as a neighborhood celebration of his return home and his betrothal. And all these people were his friends-servants, laborers, villagers. He wishes to share his happiness and his good fortune with them. Will such a ball offend you?"
"I do believe," Morgan said, leaning forward across the table, "I am going to enjoy it immensely."
"If it will make Josh happy," Freyja said, "then it will make me happy too."
Gracious heavens, she sounded like a woman meekly in love.
Was she?
Constance looked up from the blank card she had drawn in front of her, her quill pen poised above the ink bottle. "I really believed when we were in Bath, you know, Freyja," she said, "and you helped Joshua foil Mama's plan to talk him into marrying me, that you would soon find some discreet way to put an end to your betrothal. I did not understand that it was real, even if the actual announcement was rushed forward. I am so glad it is. You are perfect for Joshua. You are bold and bright enough to challenge him. You will tame him without crushing his spirit, yet you will not allow him to subdue you-he would despise you or soon grow bored with you if you did."
Freyja was startled but had no chance to respond.
"Freyja!" Morgan exclaimed. "Was there more to your sudden betrothal in Bath than you told us? How provoking of you to keep it a secret from me. I thought we had no secrets. I shall have it all out of you later-be warned. But I do agree with Constance that Joshua is really quite perfect for you. I hope I will find someone as perfect for myself, though I am sure that will not happen in the foolish atmosphere of a London Season."
"But how wonderful it would be to experience one," Chastity said wistfully. "All those balls and routs and concerts. And people. I do envy you, Morgan."
They settled to writing for a while, having divided the list into four equal parts. It was altogether probable, Freyja thought, that many of the recipients of these invitations would not even be able to read them. Doubtless word would spread fast enough, though, and everyone would understand the meaning of the cards even without being able to decipher the writing on them.
She found that she really was looking forward to the ball. It was going to be amusing if nothing else. Life really was amusing with Joshua. Certainly it was never predictable.
She broke the silence after fifteen minutes or so, during which there had been nothing to hear but the scratching of four pens.
"Constance," she asked, "do you remember anything about the night your brother died?"
It was strangely easy to forget the reason why they had all come to Penhallow. Only when she saw the marchioness, silent and pale and pathetic-and darting venomous glances at Freyja when no one else was looking-did she remember that they were all waiting for the next development in a bizarre, possibly dangerous game.
"Nothing," Constance said. "It was stormy and got worse as the night went on. I did not even know Albert had not come home until the next morning."
"But you did know he had gone out?" Freyja asked.
"He went to Lydmere," Constance said. "He said he was going to talk to Joshua."
"About what?" Freyja asked.
"I-I do not know," Constance said, dipping her pen into the ink bottle again but not proceeding to write with it. "About Miss Jewell, I believe. She was Chastity's governess and had been turned off because . . . Well, it does not matter. Joshua had found a cottage in the village for her and Mama was upset about it. Albert agreed to go and talk to him."
"The governess was with child?" Morgan asked, wide-eyed. "And your mama and your brother thought Joshua was responsible? I cannot believe it of him."
"Joshua was not the father," Chastity said fiercely. "No one knows who the father was. Miss Jewell would never say."
In the rather tense silence that followed, Constance bent to her task again, and after a moment Morgan followed suit. Chastity was unable to write, Freyja noticed with narrowed gaze. Her hand was shaking. Perhaps she was fearing that her two guests were drawing the conclusion that if the father was not Josh, it must be her brother.
"Do you remember anything of that night?" Freyja asked.
Chastity shook her head. "Nothing," she said firmly. "But you must not think ill of Joshua, Freyja. I know he did nothing improper with Miss Jewell-he came to the house each week to visit Prue, not her. I know-I was always either with Miss Jewell myself whenever he was here or else with him and Prue. And I know he did not kill Albert or do anything to cause his death. It was an accident, that is all."
Freyja continued to watch her for a while before resuming her own task-she had four more invitations to write-and giving the girl a chance to recover enough to pick up her own pen.
She wondered if either sister had loved the brother. Certainly neither of them was prepared to suspect foul play in his death, though both had known that he went to the village that night to confront Joshua over the nasty situation concerning the governess. Chastity at least realized that it was her brother who had fathered the child.
Miss Anne Jewell was a sad figure, Freyja thought-somewhat accepted in the village now, though not really one of the villagers. A woman with an illegitimate child, with only a very little of the work with which she had once hoped to make a living, forced to accept at least partial support from a man who was in no way responsible for her. What the woman needed was independence and occupation and a restoration of all her pride. What she needed . . .
Miss Anne Jewell was none of her concern, she told herself firmly.
The task was finally completed and Constance gathered the folded invitations into a neat pile and took them away to be delivered. Chastity excused herself to go up to the nursery to see Prue.
"Freyja," Morgan said when they were alone together, "there is much here that is still unspoken and unresolved, is there not? As well as a murder charge still looming over Joshua's head. How very challenging and exciting it all is."
A typical Bedwyn reaction, Freyja thought.
"I almost envy you," Morgan s
aid.
"Almost?" Freyja raised her eyebrows.
"Well, I love Joshua dearly," Morgan said, "and he is by far the most handsome man I have ever seen-including Alleyne. But I love him as a brother-in-law. I am going to have to find my own challenge and my own excitement-if there are any still out there somewhere."
It was on the tip of Freyja's tongue to tell her sister that her betrothal was not a real thing at all, but she did not say it. There were a few matters to resolve first, not least of which was the planned boat ride over to the island sometime today.
I may not be able to keep my hands off you, sweetheart.
Perhaps I will not be able to keep mine off you.
Her heart beat faster at the remembered words.
"You will find someone who is perfect for you one of these days," she said. "Everyone does."
Everyone except me.
The only perfect men she seemed to meet, Freyja thought ruefully, were unavailable for a permanent relationship.
Freyja had been able to swim for as far back as she could remember. She could jump into lakes from banks, from overhanging tree branches, from the sides of boats. She could swim on the surface or underwater, in a crawl or a backstroke or a simple float. She could hold her own in a fierce water fight. She could sail along in a small, leaky boat, lying, sitting, or standing. It had never occurred to her to be afraid of water.
Until, that was, she had seen the sea for the first time at the age of ten or so.
She had never been sure quite what it was about it that was so terrifying. Its vastness, perhaps. But she had never had to admit her terror, even to herself, until now. She had never before had any opportunity either to swim in or to sail upon the sea.
She was sitting on a narrow wooden seat in a narrow wooden boat, surrounded on all sides by water so close that she could trail her hand in it if she wished-she did not wish. She was very aware that only the thin planking of the boat beneath her feet separated her from unknown depths.
She was so ashamed and so contemptuous of her own terror that she lifted her chin at an arrogant angle as if to say that all this was a crashing bore and clasped her hands loosely in her lap rather than cling for dear life to the sides.
"Nervous?" Joshua asked with a grin.
He was hatless. He was rowing through water that undulated in the breeze and was choppy enough to show the occasional crest of white foam on the waves. He was, of course, looking quite irresistibly gorgeous. The wind was ruffling his blond hair and making it gleam. She tried to concentrate on his good looks, or, better yet, on his wicked, teasing grin. He knew she was terrified.
"Ha! Of a little water?" She tried not to notice that the island looked farther away now than when they had started or that the mainland seemed miles away.
"I was not talking about the water." He depressed one eyelid in that slow wink of his.
"Nonsense!" She pressed her lips together and he laughed.
He had explained at the luncheon table that he had promised her he would hire a boat and take her rowing for the afternoon. But before anyone could speak up with the suggestion that they make a party of it, he had added that the boat he had borrowed was very small, only big enough for two, and he was very sorry but he was a newly engaged man and needed some time alone with his betrothed.
He had smiled engagingly about the table and looked both roguish and charming. No one had uttered a single word of protest, not even Aidan, who might at that moment have chosen to act the part of elder brother since Wulf was not there to give his opinion on such a blatant indiscretion. But of course, she thought, they all believed she was betrothed to Josh. Perhaps they would not have been concerned even if they had known that the island was their destination.
Everyone else had proceeded to make plans of their own. The marchioness was to go visiting and informed Constance that she would accompany her-with the Reverend Calvin Moore. Chastity was to take everyone else down onto the beach. Morgan was going to take canvas and paints with her. Eve had made it clear that no one was even to think of going swimming.
Freyja turned her head and was surprised to find that it would still move on her neck. She could see them all there now on the sand, tiny figures looking enviably safe, some of them running, a few walking more sedately. Three of them, on the edge of the water, were waving. Prue and the children? Freyja lifted one hand and waved back.
She was suffocatingly aware that there were two blankets folded in the bottom of the boat. She had noticed them as soon as Josh and the fisherman whose boat this was had handed her in. She had stepped on them, in fact. If she were to ask what their purpose was, he would tell her that they were there to be wrapped about them if the wind should feel too chilly, but his eyes would laugh at her as he said it.
She did not ask.
"If you wish, sweetheart," Joshua said, "we can turn back right now."
She regarded him haughtily. "I am not afraid," she told him. "Not of anything. Are you?"
But he merely smiled his slow smile at her.
She noticed how the muscles of his arms and thighs flexed as he rowed. If the boat should tip over, she thought, she would simply swim. So would he. He would not let her drown. And she would not let him drown. She felt herself relaxing as she always did when she had once confronted any fear that threatened to daunt her.
At the same time her breath quickened and the blood hummed through her veins. What would happen on the island? Would she let it happen? Cause it to happen? Prevent its happening? Or would the question not even arise? Would they simply enjoy an hour of walking about and admiring the views and then return to the safety of the mainland?
For a while she thought they were not going to be able to land at all. The cliffs seemed too high, the shore too rocky, the sea too rough. But Joshua rowed around to a narrow, sandy beach in a small inlet, and he jumped out and pulled the boat up out of the water. He leaned over the side and slung the blankets over one shoulder.
Well, that answered one question at least, she thought, watching him.
"We may want to sit down for a while," he said, grinning at her. "Unless you plan to sit here all afternoon."
She ignored his outstretched hand and climbed rather inelegantly over the side to the sand. He hauled the boat even higher before leading the way up over sand and loose pebbles and rough rocks to the land above. She scrambled after him.
The island was larger than she had thought. It stretched ahead in undulating dunes and depressions, a mixture of green, coarse grass, yellow sand, bare rocks, yellow gorse, and pink thrift. Seagulls were screaming overhead and from their perches on rocks and dunes. The air was crisp and salty. The sea was visible all around.
Joshua took her hand in his as they stood on a small promontory drinking in the elemental beauty of it all.
"It is strange," he said. "I had forgotten that there is much I loved about Cornwall."
"In such a place," she said, lifting her face to the breeze, "it is easy to believe in God and eternity without the interference of any religion."
"You had better not let the Reverend Calvin Moore hear you say that," he said. But there was a warmth in his voice, a tenderness that caught at her breathing again and alarmed her.
"Did I give you permission to hold my hand?" she asked.
He chuckled softly and raised their clasped hands to bring the back of hers against his lips.
"Too late for that, sweetheart," he said. "You invited me here, remember? Just the two of us? There is another cove on the eastern side. It will be more sheltered from the wind than the rest of the island. Shall we go and sit there for a while?"
"Of course," she said, her knees feeling decidedly wobbly. What were they doing? After this business with Garnett was cleared up and presumably once the ball was over, they were to leave Penhallow and go their separate ways. They would never see each other again. Was she quite sure she wanted this memory? But she realized even as she asked herself the question that really she had no choice now. Whatever happ
ened-or did not happen-this afternoon would be forever seared on her memory.
Would she find Josh as difficult-or as easy-to get over as she had found Kit? She had never lain with Kit.
She stood gazing out at the endless expanse of blue-and-green water as he spread one blanket over the coarse grass above the little cove of a beach to which he had led her. It was indeed more sheltered here. One could almost imagine that it was summer again-a cool summer's day. He set down the other blanket, still folded. Presumably they would cover themselves with it if they were chilly.
Afterward.
She drew a slow breath. It was not too late. He would not force her.
The last time it had been easy. There had been no decision to make. She had been in the throes of an urgent, blind passion occasioned by the pain of the christening party and something he had said to anger her-she could no longer remember what. Today there was too much time for thought.
But one thought pulsed with the beat of her blood. She wanted him. She wanted the memory to take with her into the future. She could no longer think of protecting herself from the sort of pain she had known before with Kit. It was already too late.
She had no wisdom at all, it seemed, in her choice of men to love.
She sat down on the blanket, drew up her knees, and clasped her arms about them, all without looking at him. He came down beside her, sprawled on his side, his head propped on one hand.
"So, sweetheart," he said softly, "why are we here?"
She shrugged her shoulders and kept them hunched. "To see the island?" she said. "To spend some time together?"
"For what end?" he asked her. "Because we are betrothed?"
"But we are not," she said.
"No." He was silent for a while. "Why are we here, Free?"
He was going to make her spell it out, was he? Well, that was fair enough. She had asked to be brought here. She had asked that they come alone. Was she now to act like a wilting violet and expect the man to take charge of the situation? She turned her head to look at him. His eyes were smiling back at her but without either the mockery or the wicked laughter she had expected to see there.
