Invitation to a Cornish Christmas

by Marguerite Kaye

  But he could see by the look on her face that she could not. ‘I know what it’s like,’ she said, wringing her hands, ‘to endure a childless marriage. I know the heartache that’s involved, the disappointments. You love me now, but in time that would change. No, listen to me,’ she said when he made to protest again. ‘If the situation was reversed, if you could not have children, Treeve, what would you do?’

  ‘I’d tell you. I’d offer you the choice.’

  ‘And I would choose you. Just as you are choosing me—for now. In time though, my darling...’ Her voice cracked. She drew herself up. ‘You’d regret it. I couldn’t bear you growing to resent me. I won’t marry you. My mind is quite made up. I love you too much. I’ll leave Porth Karrek as soon as I can. It is best for all concerned.’

  ‘No.’ He was not giving up, but he knew better than to try to persuade her. He didn’t want to persuade her, he wanted her to see that she was wrong. She wasn’t the only one of them who wanted a future based on a solid footing, without any regrets. ‘Stay for Christmas, Emily. Do this much for me, please? Promise you’ll stay, just until the end of the year. Four weeks, that’s all I ask. And if your mind is still made up to leave, then I won’t put any obstacles in your way.’

  * * *

  The snow had melted by late afternoon when Emily made her way out of the cottage in search of fresh air. There was no trace of last night’s storm as she reached the headland overlooking Karrek Sands. The sky was pale grey, through which a weak afternoon sun filtered, the sea a gentle swell, the wind no more than a breeze. She had expected her confession to herald an irrevocable ending. She had not foreseen Treeve’s request that she stay till Christmas, but she had agreed to consider it. She had, for hours after he left, scrupulously questioned her conscience, agonisingly reviewing a list of reasons for her to leave now, a clean, brutal break, and possible reasons for her to remain.

  Seeing the lone figure on the beach, gazing out at the spot where The Beasts lurked, her heart leapt. Months of practice had made her sure-footed on the descent to Karrek Sands. He sensed her arrival as she jumped down from the path, waiting for her to approach. She remembered the first time, not so many weeks ago, when she hadn’t known who he was, hadn’t guessed that he was actually the love of her life. She crossed the sands quickly.

  ‘I’m worried that you feel sorry for me,’ she said, resuming the conversation which she had terminated a few hours before. ‘If you’d known the truth about me before you proposed, you wouldn’t have asked me to marry you, and now you have...’

  ‘You’re offering me an escape route? I truly hope you know how insulting that is.’

  She flinched. ‘I had to tell you what I’ve been thinking. I can’t have children. I wish it was otherwise, but that’s the hand nature has dealt me. I’ve learned to accept that. Mostly.’

  ‘I love you, Emily. For what you are. Who you are. I don’t pity you. I admire you. I wouldn’t change a hair on your head.’

  ‘You’ve only just realised you love me, and I’ve only just told you that I am—what I am.’

  ‘Which is why I want you to stay, at least for the time being. The rest of our lives are at stake, Emily, it’s not a decision to be made lightly.’

  ‘You can’t persuade me to change my mind.’

  ‘I don’t want to. I want you to see that this is where you belong, with me. You shocked me to the core with what you told me this morning, but even while my head was reeling, I knew what I wanted. I didn’t doubt my feelings.’ He held up his hands when she made to speak. ‘I know that what you believe is that I’ll come to see that you’re right over the next few weeks. Perhaps I will. I feel in my gut that I won’t change my mind but I’ll try, I promise you, to see things from your point of view. I’ll ask myself, is she right? Will I come to resent our childless marriage? Will I stop loving you because you can’t give me a child, or Porth Karrek an heir?’

  She clutched his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. ‘I know you love me, Treeve, as much as I love you, which is why I cannot—you deserve more.’

  ‘Isn’t that for me to say? You are all I want, Emily. We can be everything to each other.’ He sighed, freeing his hand.

  ‘If I stay, I’m worried that it will be more painful for you when I eventually leave.’

  ‘I think you’re afraid that staying will make it harder for you to leave at all. Ask yourself why. If leaving is the right thing to do, won’t staying entrench that certainty rather than weaken it?’

  ‘You’ve only just decided to stay yourself. You need time to consider what that means...’

  ‘You’re right about that. It’s a huge change, but an exciting one, don’t you think? Don’t you want to be part of it?’ He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against him. ‘I’m sorry, of course you want to be part of it. You love this place. I love you. I’m desperate for you to see things my way, but I’ll say no more. Only stay and take part in the village Christmas celebrations. Not because I want you to, but because you want to.’

  ‘It would be my first proper Christmas for years.’

  He held her at arm’s length. ‘That’s settled then. And if it is to be the end, at least let’s fill it with happy memories. You can help me with Gwav Gool as planned.’ He kissed her brow, then he let her go. ‘And after Nadelik, then you’ll decide.’

  Chapter Nine

  The next day, the Monday after the storm, Treeve and Emily resumed their morning walks. They talked. They laughed. They stopped, eyes meeting, gazes locked. But where before there were kisses, now there was unfulfilled longing. Treeve held himself apart. His hands didn’t brush hers. He didn’t tuck her hair out of her eyes. She missed his touch like a physical ache. She yearned for his kisses. But they had reached a tacit understanding that there could be no more of those.

  After their walk, Treeve left her to meet with Miss Treleven, who had offered to accompany him on his belated welcoming call on Mr Kitto, his composer, leaving Emily to head for the village. The welcome she received took her breath away. Her progress down Budoc Lane was punctuated by villagers stopping to pass the time of day, to ask her if she had recovered from her ordeal, to take her hand and simply thank her. Three mothers asked if their children could join Derwa Nancarrow’s boys in their swimming lessons next summer. Phin came out of his shop to shake her hand.

  At the baker’s, Eliza Menhenick gave her a piece of cake and a steaming mug of something that looked like coffee, but which made Emily cough when she took a sip. ‘Mahogany,’ the baker’s wife explained, ‘made with gin and treacle. And that’s a saffron bun. It’s the custom in these parts for us shopkeepers to reward our customers at Christmas. We usually wait until the week before Nadelik, but we got together this morning, and decided to bring it forward. We’ve a lot to celebrate, thanks to you, and a lot to look forward to, thanks to Captain Penhaligon.’

  The cake was delicious. The mahogany went to Emily’s head. She declined a second glass from Mrs Chegwin, who had been chatting to Derwa, she informed her, and wondered if Emily would consider selling some of her work in the shop. ‘Modest pieces, candlesticks, perhaps, to match Cloyd’s fancier candles,’ she suggested. ‘Or, getting ahead of myself a bit, what about salts in the shape of the new lighthouse Captain Penhaligon has promised us?’

  It was bittersweet, this new friendliness, a glimpse of how Emily’s life might have unfolded here, and a constant reminder of what she was giving up. Every day brought a fresh overture, a fresh possibility, and every day she had to smile and prevaricate, reluctant to disappoint.

  * * *

  Towards the end of the second week of that unusually mild December, Rosenwyn had called at her cottage to collect the hairclips Emily had made.

  ‘She offered me another commission, and promised several introductions,’ Emily told Treeve later that day, when they met in the Great Hall to discuss the food to be served at Gwav Gool.
‘She was extolling Mr Kitto’s talent. Unlike you or I, she is apparently very musical.’

  ‘I wonder if she knows of any musicians who might be available to play at Gwav Gool then. I’ve promised to pay a call on Jock Treleven to discuss the various celebrations, I must make a point of asking him. Jago tells me that there’s a tradition of dancing a six-hand reel in some parts of Cornwall. It sounds to me very much like one of your Scottish country dances. What do you think, shall we have him put together a six to demonstrate?’

  Emily giggled. ‘Why not, and ask Mr Kitto to provide the accompaniment.’

  ‘If I wished to dance a waltz, perhaps.’

  ‘Wouldn’t a hornpipe be more appropriate for a naval captain?’

  Treeve laughed. ‘I would much rather waltz.’ He eyed her speculatively. ‘Do you waltz, Miss Faulkner?’

  ‘No, I do not, Captain Penhaligon.’

  His smile softened. ‘Would you like to learn, Emily?’ Without waiting for her to reply, he circled her waist, clasping her other hand in his.

  It was such a blessed relief, such a sheer delight to be in his arms, that she made no attempt to escape. ‘We have no music,’ she murmured.

  ‘We don’t need it, we have each other.’ He pulled her closer. ‘Just follow me.’

  Their waltz made little use of the floor. They danced slowly, pressed tightly together, more closely with each slow step, each turn. Her face was burrowed into his chest. Her hand crept from his shoulder to his nape, then her fingers curled into his hair. They danced, more and more slowly until they drifted to a halt, and she lifted her face, and he gazed at her with such tenderness she wanted to weep. His lips brushed hers.

  And then he let her go. Her first and last waltz was over.

  * * *

  Half the village turned out to help decorate the Great Hall for Gwav Gool, which would be in two days’ time. It was another bittersweet day for Emily, as Treeve’s home echoed with the wild, whooping cries of children who had eaten far too much cake and sweetmeats. Several of the adults made pointed remarks about the racket being a taste of things to come.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Treeve when they had a rare moment together. ‘They seem to assume that we—that you and I...’

  ‘Will get married and have a family,’ he finished for her. ‘You’ve come a long way these last few weeks, from considering yourself an outcast, to being the hot favourite to become my wife. Quite a feat, considering you aren’t even Cornish, don’t you think?’

  She knew he was trying to tease her, but she winced all the same. ‘You promised you would not...’

  ‘I am only pointing out the obvious, since you are determined to blind yourself to it. Open your eyes, Emily. Look at all these people. Aren’t they our family?’

  She looked. At the children. The villagers. The farmers and estate workers. Then she looked at Treeve, and saw in his eyes such a sadness that her heart twisted. It was one thing to break her own heart, but his?

  Her hand fluttered to his cheek, but he removed it. ‘I can endure almost anything, save you trying to console me.’

  * * *

  It was late afternoon and dusk was falling by the time they had finished decorating the Great Hall. It looked quite beautiful, hung with garlands of greenery woven with pine cones, holly and mistletoe.

  Instead of going back to her cottage, on impulse Emily made for St Piran’s, seating herself in the most forward of the uncovered pews, where she could see the advent wreath, where three of the four candles had been lit. Two days to Gwav Gool. The day after that, Mr Kitto’s cantata would be performed here, on Christmas Eve. Then it would be Nadelik, and dinner at Karrek House. And after that, she would leave Porth Karrek for ever.

  She didn’t want to leave. Was it possible to fall more in love with someone every day? It must be, for that’s what she was doing. But what difference did it make, how much she loved Treeve, when she couldn’t give him a child?

  Treeve loved her too. She didn’t doubt that. He loved her enough to say that he would sacrifice any hope of children to spend his life with her. She’d say the same, if the situation was reversed, but would she mean it? She had married Andrew in haste because she wanted a family. It seemed obvious to her now. She’d married him because he was a connection to the family she had lost, and because he had presented himself at a time when she was alone and vulnerable. She had blithely assumed that children would follow in due course. When they did not, she had refused to despair. For five years, she had clung to her receding hopes. Five years! She had resented Andrew’s extended absences as missed opportunities. She had affected an ardour she had long stopped feeling when he returned, making love not because she loved him, but because she could not bear to contemplate a future in which there was only him. She’d thought her inability to conceive was a punishment for this, and so she’d tried, she really had tried, to love him again. To love him more. All for nothing. If Andrew had told her he couldn’t have children, she would not have married him. But Treeve...

  She loved Treeve with all her heart and her soul. Their child would be the most wonderful gift she could imagine. But if Treeve had declared himself unable to father a child—oh, yes, she would still want Treeve. He’d been hurt when she implied that his love would fade because she couldn’t give him a child. She’d said it, without realising at the time, because that’s exactly what had happened to her love for Andrew. It was an unworthy comparison. Treeve wasn’t Andrew. What she felt for Treeve was not what she had felt for Andrew. What Treeve felt for her...

  ‘If you could not have children, Treeve, what would you do?’ she’d asked him, the morning after the storm.

  ‘I’d offer you the choice,’ he had answered.

  They had not spoken of any of it since, but she knew he hadn’t changed his mind. He loved her for who she was, for all that she had done and for all that she couldn’t do. Just exactly as she loved him. He would choose her, just as she would choose him, over anyone else.

  Treeve was right. Porth Karrek could be her home. Treeve’s people could be her people. Her family. Their family. If she left, would she ever forgive herself for not taking a chance on what they both felt in their hearts and their bones about each other, that they were made for each other, that they belonged together? They could be everything to each other. Being together was surely all that mattered.

  She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay. Was it really that simple? Emily closed her eyes and said a little prayer. There was only one way to find out.

  * * *

  Treeve eyed the kissing bough despondently. He had hung it himself, after everyone had left, in the doorway between the Great Hall and the drawing room. He had hoped that Emily would have changed her mind by now. He had hoped to propose to her under it. So much for that! It had taken all his resolve, these last three weeks, to stand by his promise not to attempt to persuade her to stay. Why couldn’t she see what seemed so clear to him? If it came to it, would he really be able to let her go without a fight?

  But he knew himself too well. He had never loved before, not even come close. He loved Emily with his heart and soul. He’d never love another woman in this way, but he was damned if he’d settle for anything less than her unequivocal love in return. He didn’t want half-measures or compromises. He didn’t want her to stay here out of a sense of obligation or worse, pity. And he didn’t want her to be watching him every day, waiting for him to fall out of love, to resent her, to want what she couldn’t give. He wanted them both to embrace life, dammit! He wanted them to savour every minute of it.

  The doorbell clanged. Recalling that he’d given his household the evening off to attend the Trelevens’ bonfire on the beach tonight, Treeve answered it himself.

  ‘Emily!’

  She threw herself into his arms. ‘I was wrong. You were right. I don’t want to go.’

  ‘Emily, my love.’ He tried t
o calm himself as he wrapped his arms around her. ‘Come in out of the cold,’ he said, ushering her through to the drawing room.

  ‘I’ve been to the church,’ she said. ‘I didn’t go home after leaving here. I’ve been thinking. A lot. Not only today but especially today. All this,’ she said, waving at the garlanded Great Hall, ‘it helped me see properly. You were right, Treeve. Being here. Being part of it all. It’s more than I ever hoped for. And if it’s enough for me...’ She stopped, swallowing convulsively, pushing her damp hair back from her face. ‘I shouldn’t have doubted that it was enough for you.’

  His heart leapt, but it was clear from her expression that she needed to unburden herself, so he unfastened her cloak, draping it over a chair, and urged her closer to the fire. ‘Why did you doubt me, Emily?’

  She flinched, but met his eyes bravely. ‘Because it wasn’t enough for me, before. With Andrew, I mean. He married me for my money. He committed bigamy in order to give his real family a better future. But I didn’t marry him because I loved him, Treeve. I married him because I wanted to have a family. What I feel for you—it’s not the same. It’s—so very different. I love you with all my heart. So if you still want me...’

  ‘Emily!’ He could wait no longer, sweeping her into his arms. ‘I will want you until the ends of time. Or at the very least, until the end of our time. Always. How could you doubt it?’

  ‘I didn’t doubt you, I doubted myself. I love you so much.’

  ‘And I love you. If you knew how difficult it’s been, to say nothing these last three weeks!’

  ‘But you didn’t. And I love you all the more for that. I needed to see for myself, didn’t I? I do understand, my darling. I’m not staying here for your sake, or indeed only for mine. But for ours.’

  ‘Ours.’ He thought he might burst with happiness. ‘Ours,’ Treeve said, pulling her tighter against him. ‘Two becoming one. I never understood that until now,’ he said sheepishly, ‘but we were meant to be together.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘Always.’