The Governess of Penwythe Hall

by Sarah E. Ladd

  She followed behind and assessed the room immediately. Liam was in the corner, tied in a chair. And by the blazing fire her mother-in-law sat in a chair. No one else was present.

  Jac fixed his pistol on Ada as he spoke over his shoulder to Delia. “Cut him loose.”

  Delia snapped into action and rushed to the boy. Tears of relief threatened to blind her, and her fingers shook as she used Philip’s blade to cut the rope.

  The ticking of the clock was excruciatingly loud as her fingers made slow work, but eventually the ropes gave way and fell to the ground. Liam jumped to his feet and threw his arms around her. It was then—and only then—she turned her attention to Ada.

  Jac’s pistol was still pointed at Ada, and yet she sat as calmly and still as if she were simply enjoying an evening by the fire instead of holding a young boy hostage. A malevolent smile toyed with her thin lips. She lowered her book, her icy stare pinned on Delia alone. “So you’ve found me, have you, Cordelia?”

  Their last meeting at Greythorne House rushed to the forefront of Delia’s memory. She’d been so frightened, so weary then. Now the need for justice flared through her, and courage raced through her veins. It was her turn to ask questions, her turn to make demands. “How could you do this? Liam is a boy!”

  Ada’s ominous smile deepened, and she tilted her head to the side. “I warned Robert about you. Oh yes, time and time again, but he wouldn’t listen, the stubborn fool. You always thought you were a bit too good for the Greythorne way of life, high and mighty you were. Yet you lived in our house, ate our food. You, my dear, are one of us, whether you like it or not.”

  Delia would not be drawn into the emotion of her words of the past. She focused on the present. She had to. Based on her words, Ada did not know about the ambush on the beach. But it did not matter. Nothing the Greythornes did would ever matter to Delia again. “I’ll never be one of you.”

  Jac stepped forward and his sleeve brushed her arm. “Liam, get that rope. We’re going to see that this woman never hurts anyone again.”

  As Liam scurried back to the discarded rope, Philip caught her eye. He stood in the doorway, hat in hands, a blank expression on his face.

  Jac noticed him too. “Philip, have you a wagon we can borrow?”

  Philip shifted his rheumy gaze from Jac, to Ada, and finally to Delia, sadness sagging his shoulders.

  “Please, Philip,” Delia urged. “It’s important.”

  Before he could respond, Ada ground out, “Philip, don’t you dare.” The curt tone of her voice offered the first indication of fear.

  Philip turned his eyes back on Delia. “I’ll be right back, Mrs. Greythorne. You were always nice to me and my wife, and like I told you, I’ll never forget it.”

  * * *

  It was dawn by the time everyone had reassembled at the vicarage in Whitecross. Delia sat on the sofa. Jac sat next to her, his arm protectively—and affectionately—around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder and nestled it against his neck. He hadn’t moved a muscle since they arrived, and she hoped he never would.

  Liam slept on the chair opposite her, his black hair framing his face, his chest rising and falling smoothly with each breath. She’d been proud of his strength and courage throughout the ordeal, for it was one that no child should have to endure. Horace and one of the customs officers stood near the fireplace. Mary entered the parlor, tea tray in hand.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” the customs officer said as he accepted the steaming cup. “The Greythornes have been terrorizing the area for years, and we’ve been powerless to break their hold. Thanks to your tip, we finally have a true case to bring against them, not to mention evidence to support it.”

  Delia accepted her own cup of tea from Mary. She leaned back so her sister-in-law could hand a cup to Jac. It seemed strange now that after so much time and fear the unrest was finally behind her. So many of her questions had been answered, but one more remained. The question had plagued her since that night on the moors with Robert, and while it did not really matter, her curiosity got the better of her. “Did your men learn what was in the crates?”

  The excise man rocked back on his heels. “Silver. And a great deal of it. Crate after crate of silver plates, coins, bowls, and anything and everything else you could think of. Quite a hefty bounty. No wonder they were so keen to get their hands on it.”

  Silver.

  She stifled a huff of disbelief.

  Crates of silver had been the source of Robert’s fear, not to mention her own. It almost sounded silly now.

  “I’m only sorry it came to this.” Delia glanced down at the fresh white bandage on her arm, then at Liam to ensure that he was still sleeping, before she asked her follow-up question. “What will happen to Mr. Simon?”

  “He’s been injured, as you know, a knife stab to his shoulder, but he’ll survive. He has his own wrongs to account for—he shot and killed Thomas Greythorne, and he lured the boy out of safety and aided in a kidnapping, so there will be an inquisition into that. We found a portfolio of missives in his possession of how he’d entered into a business arrangement with the Greythornes, and it’s proven to be quite a wealth of information. Those letters alone are enough to see that he is behind bars for a good long time. If he’s got a brain in his head, he’ll turn king’s evidence against the Greythornes for a lesser punishment.”

  At the mention of the portfolio, she knew what they were referring to—the very packet she had retrieved from beneath the floorboards in Mr. Simon’s chamber at Penwythe Hall that morning so many weeks ago. Even so, unexpected, inexplicable sorrow trickled through her at the thought of Mr. Simon in prison. She hated him for how he had betrayed them, but in the end a strange sort of loyalty—or at least conscience—prevailed. “And Ada Greythorne?”

  “She and Henry will be imprisoned. I can’t see how any jury would find fault with this case. I don’t care how powerful the Greythornes are. Their empire is crumbling, and no doubt it will be every man for himself—every free trader from here to Devon will want to avoid swinging from the noose. Nothin’ looses a man’s tongue like staring at the rope.”

  The bittersweet words hung somber and poignant in the air. It was then she noticed her brother’s tight, colorless expression.

  What a shock this must have been for her brother—the vicar—to step from his quiet, safe world into danger. Perhaps he did do it for Liam, but she knew he did it for her as well.

  Despite all the tension between them, she loved her brother. “Thank you, Horace, for everything you did tonight.”

  Horace ignored her words of gratitude. It spite of his flaws, he was, in the end, a humble man. In true form, he changed the subject. “I suppose you’re all eager to go back home to Penwythe Hall.”

  All? Could it be that he had finally accepted her decision?

  She exchanged glances with Jac. A smile softened his expression.

  Yes, home. To Penwythe. To the children, and to the life they were all building there.

  Horace sighed and then nodded. “As your brother, I wish you’d stay with us here in Whitecross, but I do understand your reasons, and I can admit when I’m wrong.”

  At his hesitation to continue, Delia rose from her place next to Jac and approached her brother. She reached out and touched his arm but remained silent.

  He patted her hand and pursed his lips before continuing, as if considering his words. “I’ve not always been the brother I should have been to you. I’ve not always acted with your best interest at heart, and for that I’ll forever be ashamed. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Moisture stung her eyes. They’d never spoken of the fact that he’d kept the Greythornes’ reputation a secret from her. And now that he had, it didn’t seem to matter. “It is all behind us, Horace. All of it. Of course I forgive you.”

  “I want that to be different going forward,” Horace added quickly, his tone brightening. “I misjudged the situation and spoke out of turn. Return to Penwythe Hall
, Delia, and go with my blessing.”

  Delia flung her arms around him. A sense of tenderness, a sense of family, was released at the embrace. “Thank you, Brother. For everything.”

  Chapter 52

  Delia and Jac walked the customs officer out of the vicarage. The first blue light of dawn was creeping over the forest to the east, and a low-lying gossamer mist still hovered over all. Jac curled his fingers around Delia’s smaller ones as the officer bid his farewell and disappeared in the morning’s quiet stillness.

  They were alone now, and Jac preferred it that way. He did not want to return to the vicarage, where her family still gathered. With sudden energy he squeezed her hand. “Come on.”

  She laughed—a joyful, peaceful laugh. How long had he yearned to hear that sound? He led her to the walled garden and opened the door. She didn’t resist as he led her through the gate, and once they reached the stone wall’s shadow, he pulled her closer.

  Clutching her hand against his chest, he whispered, “Do you trust me, Cordelia Greythorne?”

  “I seem to remember you asking me that question once before.” She smiled up at him, leaning closer, melting against him. “You know I do.”

  His gaze landed on the soft curve of her lip. He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. Her nearness clouded his thoughts, yet there was one specific thing he needed to know. “Let me ask you this, then. Will you trust me with today, tomorrow, and every day for the rest of your life?”

  She bit her lower lip in that way she was oh-so-prone to do. Tears glimmered in her eyes, and yet she met his gaze boldly. She inched closer, so close that the hem of her skirt brushed against him and the scent of her hair intermingled with that of the roses and wrapped itself around him, intoxicating him and fueling his desire all the more.

  “You could not possibly know how much you have given me,” he said. “You and the children have brought happiness into my life, and I now realize how far I would go to protect it. Penwythe Hall would be nothing to me if you were not there by my side. You’ve become part of it, and you’ve forever taken up residence in my heart.”

  He could wait no more. He dropped her hand and wrapped his arms around her, feeling the softness of her body against his. He kissed her, her lips softer than velvet against his own, and the cares and the worries of the past several months melted away.

  He brushed her dark hair from her brow, the look of happiness on her face encouraging him. “Cordelia Greythorne, my Cordelia Greythorne, I have to say that somewhere along the way I have fallen hopelessly in love with you, and I never want to be parted from you again. Will you consent to be my wife?”

  A little giggle burst from her, and she rested her hands against his chest, her gray eyes brimming with joy. “Well, Jac Twethewey, my Jac Twethewey, I have fallen in love with you, and nothing could possibly make me happier than becoming your wife.”

  Epilogue

  Delia clutched Sophy’s hand in her own as she breathed in the scents of apples and the cool crispness of late autumn. Sophy pranced and danced as they walked together. Not since the Frost Ball had Delia seen so many people at Penwythe Hall. The cider barn’s courtyard was alive with activity, and at the center stood Jac.

  “Do all those people want to talk with Uncle?” Sophy asked, tilting her head as she assessed the crowd.

  Pride at Jac’s success swelled within Delia. He’d gambled and won. Farmers from all over had brought their apples to the cider barn, and from where she and Sophy stood, they could see the horse inside dragging the stone around the crusher. Though the hailstorm may have damaged well over half of Penwythe Hall’s crop, they were still busy, day and night, crushing apples, pressing them, storing them in barrels. Even Mr. Colliver had been impressed and was eager to join Jac in future ventures. Word had spread far and wide, and now they would have enough business to keep Penwythe busy for months to come.

  They’d fought so many battles, many of which seemed a distant memory. Mr. Steerhead may have stolen the children’s money, but Jac had given them something far greater: A home. Family. Love. Mrs. Lambourne continued to request that her nieces and nephews live with her in London, but their desire to stay and live and thrive at Penwythe Hall warmed Delia’s heart.

  “Yes,” Delia answered at length, a contented sigh passing her lips, “All those people want to talk to your uncle.”

  A sweet-scented breeze blew in, and Delia lifted her face to it. How wonderful it felt to be able to live at Penwythe free of fear of the past and fear of the future. Just months ago, paralyzing fear had ruled her thoughts, and sadness prevailed over all. She continually thought of Elizabeth and her words of faith and peace, and daily Delia found renewed strength in them.

  She tenderly touched the pendant around her neck. Her past—Maria, Elizabeth, her parents, and Robert—would always be a part of her story, and she was grateful for her time with them. She would never cease mourning for those she had lost, but now her heart was opening to the possibility of happiness once more.

  Delia and Sophy continued toward the courtyard, and Jac looked up as they approached. Hair wild, skin tanned from days spent in the sun, he flashed a white smile at her, excused himself from the man he was speaking with, and jogged to meet them. Sophy broke free from Delia’s hold and ran to meet him. He scooped up the child in his arms.

  “Well, Princess Sophy, what do you think of all these people at Penwythe Hall?”

  “I want it to go back to when it was just us and we could play bowling on the bowling green.” She pouted.

  Jac laughed and lifted her higher, then stepped closer to Delia and wrapped his arm around her. “It will all be normal again soon enough. We’ve the rest of our lives to spend together, and that, God willing, will be a very long time, and we can bowl until your little heart is content.”

  “I bet I’ll win.” Sophy smiled and wriggled down. “Oh, look! There are Liam and Johnny.” She took off running toward the courtyard, her peach dress fluttering behind her and her long white ribbons streaming.

  They watched the little girl weave through the crowd to her brothers, who were standing with their new tutor—a man who encouraged the boys to learn as much as they could about the family business. They lingered on the scene for several moments, and then Jac turned to Delia and took her in his arms. She laughed and pressed the side of her face against his strong chest. As much as she wanted to stay here forever, she could not help but notice the curious glances in their direction. “Everyone is watching us.”

  He did not break his gaze. “I don’t care. Do you, Mrs. Twethewey?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  They walked together, arm in arm, back to the courtyard. Her new family, her new neighbors, her new life swirled around her in vibrant colors. No more was she watching the tree line for danger. Instead, her focus was firmly on her present, firmly on her blessings. She looked toward Jac again, and her heart leapt within her.

  Finally she had found her home.

  Discussion Questions

  When Delia learns that she’ll be returning to Cornwall, she realizes she will have to face a past she wanted to forget. Have you ever been in a situation where you had to confront issues in your past that you would rather forget?

  Throughout the story, Jac struggled with being impulsive. Do you think this is a positive trait or a negative one?

  If you could give Delia one piece of advice at the beginning of the story, what would it be? What advice would you give her at the end?

  Do you have a favorite character? If so, who is it, and what draws you to him or her? Who is your least favorite?

  Jac was faced with the sudden and unexpected responsibility of caring for his brother’s children. Can you think of a time in your life when you were tasked with a major, unexpected responsibility? How did it affect you?

  Let’s talk about Mr. Simon. Do you think he was ever a true friend to Delia? How do his actions support your opinion of him?

  Elizabeth told Delia, “Fear is an enemy—it wil
l rob you of today’s joys and steal your strength to fight for your purpose.” Have you found this statement to be true?

  Now it’s your turn! What comes next for Delia and Jac? What about for the children? If you could write a sequel, what would happen?

  Acknowledgments

  This book was an absolute joy to write! I am so grateful for those who encouraged me and worked beside me to transform this idea into a finished novel.

  To my family: thank you for your unending cheers and support. You mean the world to me!

  To my agent, Rachelle Gardner: your advice, guidance, and friendship are a treasure.

  To my fabulous editor, Becky Monds, and to my incredible line editor, Julee Schwarzburg: thanks for rolling up your sleeves with me to polish this story. To the rest of the team at HarperCollins Christian Publishing—from marketing to sales and everyone in between: thank you for all you do!

  And last but not least, to my writing friends, especially KBR and KC: thanks to each and every one of you for sharing this journey with me.

  About the Author

  Forever Smiling Photography

  Sarah E. Ladd received the 2011 Genesis Award in historical romance for The Heiress of Winterwood. She is a graduate of Ball State University and has more than ten years of marketing experience. Sarah lives in Indiana with her amazing family and spunky golden retriever.

  * * *

  Visit Sarah online at SarahLadd.com

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  Acclaim for Sarah E. Ladd

  “Brimming with dangerous secrets, rich characters, and the hauntingly beautiful descriptions Sarah Ladd handles so well, 1800s Cornwall is brought vividly to life in this well-crafted tale that kept me glued to the pages. What a brilliant start to a new series!”