Invitation to a Cornish Christmas

by Marguerite Kaye

  This was what she needed, but as she reached for him, for the first time he hesitated. ‘You want this, Emily, as much as I do?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Every bit as much.’

  She kissed him, and her kisses convinced him, and she lost herself again, as he laid her down on the bed and entered her, slowly, slowly, slowly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he pushed higher. And then...

  Heat, friction, pulsing, throbbing, tension. He thrust. Emily moaned, holding him tight inside her. He thrust higher. She held on tight, tighter, and he thrust harder, and she dug her heels into his rear and urged him on, higher, faster. She clutched at his back, and she cried out wildly as his thrusts sent her over the edge, spinning, throbbing, wave after wave, urging him on, until he cried out too, spilling himself on to the sheet, collapsing panting over her, and she clung to him, wrapping her arms and legs around him. Safe.

  * * *

  ‘Emily,’ Treeve murmured, kissing her tenderly. ‘I didn’t intend this tonight but—oh, Emily, I can’t regret it.’ He rolled on to his side, propping himself up on his elbow. ‘Tell me you don’t either.’

  ‘No.’ She smiled at him, her mouth softened with kisses, her lids heavy, her skin rosy. ‘After tonight, I needed you.’

  His heart lifted. ‘It was the same for me. I know we should have waited, but after tonight, I thought, why wait, when we know. I love you so much, so very much, and the very idea that I could have lost you. My love, my darling, I can’t wait to call you my wife. You will marry me, won’t you, Emily?’

  She stared at him blankly for a long moment. Then she pushed herself up, grabbing the sheet, looking utterly horrified. ‘No!’

  ‘I’m leaving the navy. I’ve decided to stay in Porth Karrek,’ he said urgently, thinking she must have misunderstood. ‘I announced it down at the harbour tonight. You were right, I belong here, they need me. And I need you, Emily. I know it’s sudden, but tonight made me see that I don’t want to miss another second of our lives together.’ Her expression had not softened. He took her hand. ‘I’ve known from the moment I met you that what I felt was different and tonight—it took tonight to make me realise that it was love. And you said you felt the same.’

  ‘No!’ Emily shook herself free, jumped out of bed, grabbing her nightgown and pulling it on in a wild tangle of arms and sleeves. ‘No, no, no. I said I needed you, I didn’t say I loved you.’

  ‘But we made love.’ He felt as if she had punched him in the stomach, as if she had knocked the breath out of him. ‘You must have known that I would never have made love with you if I had not thought that...’

  ‘I can’t marry you, Treeve, it’s out of the question. I’m so sorry, I had no idea—but I won’t. I can’t.’

  His body was still heavy with sated desire. His head was spinning. He had been so sure. And they had made love. But Emily didn’t love him. No, that simply didn’t feel right! ‘I’ve spooked you,’ Treeve said, getting out of bed and covering himself with a blanket. ‘I should have realised it’s too much to absorb in one night. What happened out there. Then my deciding to stay here. And then proposing. It felt right to me, but I’ve been too hasty, I haven’t explained myself properly. Deciding to stay here, it’s a huge change for me, and I know I’ve not thought it through but I also know I won’t change my mind, Emily. What I feel for you—what we feel for each other...’

  ‘Please don’t.’ She was pale, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes wide.

  A huge shudder made her stagger, and Treeve caught her as her legs gave way, cursing himself. ‘My poor darling, you’re exhausted. What was I thinking, allowing myself to get so carried away when what you need is sleep! I’m so sorry.’

  He picked her up, carrying her back to the rumpled bed and pulling the blankets over her. She watched him silently as he put on what was left of his clothes. ‘We are both overwrought. I’ll come back later this morning. Emily?’

  ‘Yes. We need to talk, Treeve. I can’t—’

  ‘In the morning,’ he interrupted her. Her tone was flat, but it was exhaustion, he told himself, she was physically and emotionally drained. Still he hesitated, not in the least inclined to leave her. But that was clearly what she wanted, for she had already closed her eyes, so he banked up the fire, then left.

  Outside it was strangely light. It took him a moment to realise that it had been snowing. He plodded back to Karrek House, his body heavier, wearier with each step, the efforts of holding the rope, fighting the sea, finally taking their toll. He felt deflated, his exuberant mood quite lost in a vague depression. He loved Emily. She loved him. They belonged together. Their future lay here, in Porth Karrek. These things were irrefutable. When she had rested, she’d see it too.

  Chapter Eight

  Against her expectations, Emily slept deeply, waking unrefreshed several hours later, with an aching head and aching body, but with her mind quite resolved. There was a strange light coming through the window. A light dusting of snow covered the ground. Opening her front door, she took large gulps of icy air, and found a pail of milk and a fresh loaf wrapped in a cloth on the doorstep. The gesture brought a lump to her throat. Finally, she had found a place she wanted to call home, and the events of last night meant she would be welcome here. But those same events had been decisive for Treeve too. He had decided to stay. And so she must go. She loved Porth Karrek, but she loved Treeve more. She could not remain here, so deeply in love, but unable to be his wife. He’d be here soon, hoping to persuade her, unaware that their conversation would be about how impossible any notion of their marrying was.

  Picking up the loaf and milk, she closed the door, stoked the fire and set the kettle to boil. She was in love with Treeve, but it brought her no joy. Treeve was in love with her, and what should have made her heart soar made it ache. A tear trickled down her cheek, as she anticipated the pain she was about to inflict on him. But it was the only way. It would be over quickly, a ruthless cut such as a surgeon would make, and the love he felt for her would be gone. As she would be too, soon.

  Another tear trickled down her cheek. There would be no Gwav Gool for her. She wouldn’t see the bonfire on the beach, or hear the Christmas cantata Treeve had commissioned from the composer who would be arriving in Porth Karrek this very day. When Treeve knew her sad, tragic history, he’d want her gone, before she could taint his new beginning here. She would spend another Christmas alone. No different from the last five Christmases. So it was very, very stupid of her to cry over something she’d never had. But it was a great deal easier to cry over the loss of Christmas than to think about the huge chasm that the loss of Treeve would create.

  She dressed carefully, her arms and shoulders screaming in protest as she pulled her dress on and struggled with the fastenings. She’d barely noticed her aches and pains last night, when Treeve arrived at her door. When she had thrown herself at him like a wanton. Her cheeks burned. She had never felt such an elemental passion as she had felt last night, making love to Treeve. Last night, the need to make love to him had been an irresistible force, a need to be part of him, body and mind. They were made for each other. Treeve, so honest and open with his feelings, had sensed it from the start, had seen what she too had been forced to admit.

  The kettle was boiling. Emily made herself a cup of tea. She made herself to eat a slice of fresh bread. And prepared to deny the truth in her heart, to protect the man she loved.

  * * *

  The snow was already melting when Treeve set out the morning after the storm dressed, not in his usual garb but in town clothes, a tailcoat, a high, starched cravat, tightly fitting pantaloons, gleaming boots. Cador Kitto, the composer, would arrive later that day, he reminded himself as he passed the gatehouse. He’d have to find time to make the man welcome.

  Emily opened the door before he had time to knock. She too had dressed with care, in a pale blue gown he hadn’t seen before, her hair pinned into
a heavy chignon at her nape, rather than tied loosely back. Her face was pale, her eyes huge, her smile quite absent. She looked determined and apprehensive. The knot in his stomach tightened. Despite his best attempts to feel optimistic, he had not been able to rid himself of the sense of dread he’d woken with.

  ‘Emily.’ He took her hands between his, in their usual greeting. Her skin was icy. ‘Did you sleep?’

  ‘Do you want tea?’ She pulled her hands away, not meeting his eyes, waving him to a seat, not at the fire, but at her work table, which she had cleared. ‘There’s fresh bread too, someone left it on my doorstep, though I expect you’ve already breakfasted.’

  ‘I’m not hungry. Emily, I...’

  ‘I’ve got something I must tell you.’

  It was the way she said it. Baldly, almost ruthlessly, in a cold, taut tone so unlike her. It choked his own words of love and persuasion in his throat, and clutched like icy fingers in his belly. He took the tea he didn’t want from her and waited.

  ‘When I was nineteen, visiting my grandparents in Lewis, I met a young man. Andrew Macfarlane. A distant relative, also visiting the island, he was handsome and charming. It was one of those summers where the sun shone every day—or so it seemed to me at the time. I ended up half in love with him. But at the end of summer we went our separate ways. I went back to London, and thought no more of him, save as an innocent holiday romance.’

  Emily took a shaky drink of tea. Treeve simply waited, with no idea where this unexpected story would lead.

  ‘Three years later,’ she continued, ‘my grandparents died. The estate went to John-Angus, as I told you, but my inheritance was still substantial. I had no idea of how substantial. Papa called it my nest egg. He invested it for me. We lived comfortably enough, but modestly. Then Papa died, and I discovered that Papa had left me another fortune on top of my original inheritance. I was—well, I suppose you would call me an heiress.’

  ‘An heiress! And you had no idea?’

  Emily’s expression hardened. ‘None at all, nor any idea, when I discovered the extent of my inheritance, of the attention it would generate. How people came to know, I have no idea, but I was inundated with begging letters. And with invitations.’

  ‘The press,’ Treeve said, struggling to make sense of what she was saying. ‘I believe it is the practice to publish details of substantial estates in the press.’

  ‘I didn’t know that. That must have been how Andrew Macfarlane found me. He turned up at my door a week after the funeral, offering his condolences. I can see by your face that you have guessed what happened.’

  ‘He was a fraud,’ he said flatly, for now the point of the story did seem clear enough. ‘He cheated you out of your inheritance.’

  ‘He was certainly a fraud, but I’m not sure—is it cheating, for a husband to take all his wife’s money?’

  He had been readying himself to assure her that he didn’t give a damn how poor she was. He thought he must have misheard. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I married him,’ Emily replied, stony-faced. ‘We were married for five years, during which time he took every penny of my inheritance without my knowledge, and mortgaged our home up to the hilt to boot. I finally confronted him in January this year. You cannot know how deeply I regret not doing so sooner.’

  Treeve pushed back his chair so violently that it clattered to the floor. ‘You’re married?’ He clutched at his hair, staring at her aghast. ‘All this time, I’ve been falling in love with you, planning a future with you, and you were married to someone else. What the hell were you playing at?’

  He was at the door when she caught him, grabbing him by the arm. ‘Wait, I haven’t finished.’

  ‘I don’t want to know any more.’

  ‘I’m not married, Treeve. I thought I was, but I’m not. Though it makes no difference. I’m telling this all wrong. I’m so sorry.’

  She pulled his arm. He let himself be dragged back inside. Picking up his toppled chair, he dropped into it, incapable of speaking.

  ‘He told me he had never forgotten our summer in Lewis, couldn’t get me out of his head but didn’t know where I lived. He told me that when he read the notice of Papa’s death, he’d taken it for a sign. I believed him. I believed all of it. So we were married.’ She held up her hand to stay him when he made to speak. ‘From the start there were absences. Long periods when he was away. On business, he said, some of the time, and at others he—he told me that his mother was deranged, and kept in a quiet house in Yorkshire.’ Emily’s mouth twisted. ‘I fell for that too. Of course his mother was long dead.

  ‘Last year, the holes in his story began to show, though I refused to examine them too closely. Creditors appeared at the door. He explained them away. More appeared. The bank would not discuss matters with me, because a wife has no authority over her own money, it seems, so I finally turned to Papa’s solicitor and he uncovered the truth.’

  A tear splashed down her cheek, but she scrubbed it furiously away. ‘Andrew was married—is married—has been married to another woman for twelve years. He was married, in fact, the year I met him. He has four children. He admitted all of it quite freely, when I confronted him. He loves his wife and his children very much. Well, of course he does, he must do, for he’s spent the last five years appropriating funds from me to provide for them. And now he can, he has no need of me.’

  ‘Emily...’

  ‘Please, hear me out. I could take him to court for bigamy. It’s what Papa’s solicitor recommended, but can you imagine what that would do to his wife and children—because they don’t know, you see. All the times he spent with me, they thought he was abroad on business. And he was always home for the important things too—birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas. I worked it all out, afterwards. The dates.’

  ‘But your fortune...’

  ‘I don’t care about the money,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t deserve to have it back.’

  ‘You can’t possibly blame yourself for any of this?’

  ‘Who else is there to blame? I allowed him to dupe me. A few simple enquiries, that was all it took in the end, but I didn’t make them. Not at the start, when he appeared as if by magic, not when he disappeared, not when the creditors appeared. I went on burying my head in the sand until it was too late. And then, when it was over, I ran.’

  ‘To Cornwall.’

  ‘To Cornwall.’

  Treeve was shocked. Appalled. Angry on her behalf. No, furious. And, dammit, he was touched by her bravery. Her spirit. ‘It doesn’t alter the fact that I love you, Emily.’

  ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘I love you,’ he persisted, ‘and I know you love me. You wouldn’t have made love to me last night otherwise, no matter what you say. We got carried away in the moment, it’s true, but it was because of what we feel for each other. I know you love me.’

  She gazed at him helplessly. ‘I can’t marry you. You couldn’t find a more unsuitable wife. As far as the world is concerned, my reputation is ruined. I lived with another man for five years...’

  ‘Thinking you were married!’

  Emily reached her hand over to clasp his fingers. ‘Five years, I lived with him, Treeve. As his wife.’ She spoke gently now, carefully, her eyes fearful not for herself but for him. ‘And I did not once conceive. I hoped. You have no idea how much I hoped, but the discovery that his wife has four children could mean only one thing. Now do you see?’

  And finally, he did. ‘You can’t have children,’ he said softly, heartsore for her.

  ‘And you must have children,’ Emily said. ‘To carry on your work at Porth Karrek. A future generation...’

  ‘Stop!’ He shook himself free of her clasp, running his hand through his hair. ‘We promised to be honest with each other. Right from the start, we promised. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I’m ashamed. B
ecause I didn’t want you to know me as that pathetic woman. I wanted to be whole! You admired me. You thought me brave.’

  ‘I don’t know anyone braver. Last night...’

  ‘But I’m not brave. I was afraid to confront Andrew. I was afraid to confront the fact that I couldn’t have children. I closed my eyes and hoped against all odds—how is that brave?’

  ‘You didn’t trust me! Right from the start, I couldn’t understand what it was—why it was that you wouldn’t talk about your past.’

  ‘I wanted to wipe the slate clean.’

  ‘He betrayed you, so you betrayed me, Emily.’

  ‘No! Please don’t say that.’

  He clutched at his brow again. ‘Do I know you in the slightest?’

  She gazed at him helplessly. ‘Better than I know myself. I could lie to you, tell you that I don’t love you...’

  ‘I wouldn’t believe you. You know that. It’s why you have finally told me this.’ He cursed again, looking at her helplessly. ‘What am I to do? I don’t want to think about life without you. You’re part of me, Emily. I can’t lose you.’

  ‘I can’t be your wife. Think about it, Treeve, you’re giving up your surrogate family by leaving the navy. It’s natural, it’s right that you should then want a real family of your own. Isn’t that what marriage is all about?’

  ‘I love you, dammit!’

  ‘But you need more than just me in your life. And Porth Karrek deserves better too. An heir to carry on with all the improvements you’re about to make. To pick up your legacy. That’s not possible if you marry me.’

  ‘I have come to love this place, but I’m not going to marry just to secure an heir. Emily, I love you, dammit, and you love me! I want to share my life with you.’ He ached with the pain of her childlessness, he couldn’t begin to imagine how she must have suffered. ‘If we were blessed with children, I would be delighted, but I would rather do without them than without you. Can’t you see?’