Chapter Eleven

Morvoren

Morvoren shut her mouth with such a clack her teeth jarred. The house that had come into view at the end of the long avenue of limes was the most beautiful place she'd ever seen. It sprawled like a National Trust stately home, its ancient stone-built beauty in its own way as much a part of the landscape as Jago's humble farm.

Of course. Ormonde Abbey. She knew her history. Which of Kit's ancestors had won favor with a king in order to take over the abbey lands, and when? A feeling of participating in history as it unfolded coiled in her apprehensive stomach.

In the back of the carriage, Loveday was clearly having the same reaction as Morvoren, to judge from her gasps of surprise and an "Oh Lordy Lord!" that came squeaking out.

Morvoren turned to look at Kit. "This is where you live?"

He nodded with a slight smile. "Welcome to Ormonde, Miss Lucas." He tapped the horses lightly with the end of his whip and their trot sped up.

She couldn't stop staring. If he lived here, in this beautiful house set in what looked like a lot of land, why on earth had he been down in Cornwall taking part in dangerous smuggling activities with his not-at-all respectable uncle? Was he short of money? It didn't look like it, although she knew, this time from reading historical romance novels in her teens, that often large estates like this were no indication of great riches. A lord could be land rich but cash poor, so maybe that was it, especially if he, or his predecessor had a gambling addiction. That was it. Kit must be an impoverished member of the aristocracy.

Kit brought the phaeton to a halt in front of the central tower, which had a flight of wide stone steps leading up to huge double doors. As the wheels crunched to a standstill, one half of this door opened, and what could only be a butler emerged. The very fact that she was accepting there'd be servants in this house came as a surprise. Was she getting used to being in 1811 and assuming it would be like the books she'd read as a teenager? For the first time, the thought that this might be fun crossed her mind.

The butler, his solemn face devoid of curiosity, made a low bow and stepped up to hold the horses' heads while Kit looped the reins around the brake and jumped down from the carriage. With quick steps, he walked around to Morvoren's side and offered her his hand. "Miss Lucas."

Well, no going back now. She put her hand in his, and, holding the skirts she was beginning to get used to out of the way with her spare hand, stepped down onto the gravel. Kit turned to the butler, if that was what he was. "Roberts, can you take Miss Lucas's maid around to the servants' quarters and see she's looked after? And send our luggage up. Miss Lucas will be staying in the blue bedroom."

And with that, they abandoned poor Loveday to the butler's ministrations, and Kit, drawing Morvoren's hand through his arm, escorted her up the steps and in through the open front door.

After the bright sunshine of the day, it took Morvoren a moment or two to become accustomed to the somewhat gloomy interior of the house. She blinked a few times and stared around. She was in a stone-flagged hallway, with a door ahead and a substantial flight of stairs rising to the right, up to a shadowy half-landing.

"This way." Still in possession of Morvoren's hand, Kit led her through the next door and into a large, wood-paneled hall. A stone fireplace stood at one end, surrounded by upholstered sofas. Toward the other end, a row of silver candlesticks decorated an enormous dark oak table with a large number of matching chairs tucked in around it.

But the thing that struck Morvoren most was the paintings, and one in particular. Above the fireplace hung a very large picture of a man in a silvery wig and tricorn hat astride a prancing grey horse. To the right of this painting hung another. A portrait. Of Kit.

The one from the museum.

If she'd had any doubts about her foreknowledge, this rid her of them.

Before she had the opportunity to ask any questions, though, a footman materialized from nowhere, or so it seemed.

"Ah, Albert," Kit said. "Where will I find my mother and sister?"

The footman executed a formal bow. "Lady Ormonde and Miss Ysella are both in the library, my lord." As he rose from the bow, his eyes rested for a moment on Morvoren, as impassive and incurious as the butler's had been.

"Thank you, Albert," Kit said, and, keeping a firm hold on Morvoren's hand, he marched her across the hall toward a door on the far side.

She went with him, mainly because she had no alternative, but inside, her heart beat a thunderous tattoo and despite the constraints of her stays, her breath came fast and furious. What would Kit's mother and sister think of him bringing a strange young woman of dubious origins into their home? Of asking them to take in a waif and stray off the streets, which was in truth what he was doing. A waif wearing his mother's old clothes. Morvoren couldn't have felt more waiflike if she'd been a workhouse inmate in Oliver Twist.

Kit pushed open the door and ushered her through.

The library occupied a long, high-ceilinged room and fully lived up to its name. Shelves of books adorned every square inch of wall space, save for where four long windows let in the morning sunshine. At one end of the room, around the necessary fireplace, happily empty of a fire right now, a cluster of high-backed, upholstered chairs had been assembled. Seated in two of the chairs were two women.

Towing Morvoren in his wake, Kit strode up the room toward them.

The older of the two women could not have been in more than her late forties, her barely greying hair elegantly arranged in a tumble of dark curls that peeped from the constraints of a lacy mob cap. A hint of Kit clung to her features, but nothing of her brother Jago, thank goodness. However, something about her suggested she might be a country girl at heart. Maybe it was the laughter lines around her lively eyes or the sprinkling of freckles that decorated her small nose, but she looked as though she scoffed at staying out of the sun.

The other woman was clearly her daughter. A smaller, daintier version of her mother with the clear complexion of the very young and the same dark eyes as her brother, Miss Ysella Carlyon was undeniably a beauty.

Ysella leapt to her feet, dropping the sewing from her lap, and ran to her brother, throwing her arms around him. "Kit! Oh Kit! You're back. I'm so pleased. I thought you'd be in Cornwall for weeks yet, as you usually are!" On tiptoe, she planted a resounding kiss on both his cheeks then stood back from him, her eyes going to Morvoren, appraising and curious, and thankfully also full of cheerful excitement and welcome. "But who is this lovely creature?"

Lady Ormonde rose more slowly to her feet, her expression not matching her daughter's rapturous one. Instead, a stern frown had settled on her brow as she looked from Kit to Morvoren. No doubt she recognized one of her old dresses. As the mother of what must be a very eligible son, she was probably jumping to all the wrong conclusions at this very moment.

A hot blush rose up Morvoren's cheeks. What she needed right now was for the wooden floorboards to open and swallow her whole.

Kit released her hand. "Mother, Ysella, allow me to introduce you to Miss Morvoren Lucas, an acquaintance of mine from Cornwall. We had the pleasure of traveling up from Exeter together on the mail coach, and I have prevailed upon her to stay here with us for a while."

No mention of him having fished her out of the sea and thinking her a mermaid. That would most likely have been a hard story to get even his adoring sister to accept.

Lady Ormonde's gaze lingered on Morvoren's clothing. "I think there is a little more to this than you are telling us, Kit," she said, her voice icily cold, in stark contrast to her bubbly daughter.

"Mother!" Ysella scolded. "Don't be so mean." She turned back to Morvoren. "Miss Lucas, I'm so very pleased to meet you. It was becoming quite dull here without Kit, and now that he's back and has brought you for my entertainment, I'm sure we'll have much more fun."

"Ysella. Be quiet," her mother said. "I wish a better explanation from your brother." She fixed Kit with a stony stare.

What a formidable woman she was turning out to be. As bad, or worse due to her station in life, than her brother Jago. But what must it be like to be the mother of a son many gold-digging young women might be after? Just to snare themselves a title. Morvoren knew her Georgette Heyer. She'd probably be reacting in the same way if she'd been in Lady Ormonde's shoes.

Kit's mother fixed him with a hard stare. "Well?" When he didn't answer, she went on. "I'm neither blind nor stupid, my boy. Why is Miss Lucas dressed in one of my old gowns which is now thirty years out of date?" She raised a delicate eyebrow. "Does she possess no clothing of her own?"

Ysella's eyes flew wide. "Your old gown, Mama? I thought perhaps that in Cornwall they're behind the times with the styles."

"Yes. My gown." Lady Ormonde's cold gaze continued to survey Morvoren from head to foot.

Self-consciously, Morvoren tried to make certain her feet were tucked out of sight under her skirts, which of course drew Lady Ormonde's attention.

Her delicately arched eyebrows rose once more, and she returned her gaze to her son.

Kit heaved a sigh. "All right. I'll tell you. If you must know, Miss Lucas was lost overboard from a ship, and I rescued her. She… lost most of her belongings in the sea and we can't find any of her relations to come to her aid. Perhaps they've all sailed on to whatever destination her ship was headed to. I felt responsible for her, as I fished her from the water in my net, so I thought bringing her here, with a maid, of course, the best plan of action. I couldn't abandon her without even a gown to wear and nowhere to stay." He paused and gave his mother hard look for hard look. "Thinking that my mother and sister would welcome her."

A long silence ensued.

His mother broke it. "Am I to understand that when you rescued Miss Lucas, she was… naked?"

Best to keep out of this exchange.

Kit shook his head in a hurry. "Nothing of the sort, Mother, but her clothes were damaged, and she needed to borrow some clothing to retain her respectability."

"How romantic," Ysella gasped. "And you found her Mama's clothes. How clever of you, Kit, as she seems to fit them perfectly, although they're sadly not at all fashionable now." She turned a bright smile on Morvoren. "But I think you are much the same size as I am, and I should be delighted to provide you with some dresses that won't look so fusty and old-fashioned." She had an infectious smile. "It will be like having a sister again. My own sisters are so drearily taken up with their children and much older than I." She clapped a hand to her mouth. "And I'm not at all supposed to mention that Meliora is increasing, of course. What could be more dull than getting so fat?"

"Ysella," her mother said. "Enough. Perhaps you will take Miss Lucas upstairs to wherever it is your brother has decreed she is to stay. I'd like to have a word with him in private." She returned her gaze to Morvoren. "And do please find her something to wear that doesn't remind me of my girlhood."

"The blue room," Kit managed to interject.

Ysella took Morvoren's arm. "Dear Miss Lucas, do please come with me. I have a gown in mind that will suit your coloring to perfection." And with that, she whirled Morvoren out of the room.

*

Kit

No sooner hadthe door closed behind Ysella and Miss Lucas than Kit's mother turned on him. "Who is this girl?" she demanded. "And why have you brought her here? She must have family somewhere who can take responsibility for her, surely?"

Kit bristled. "She has no one, Mother, and I feel responsible for her myself having pulled her from the water and thought her dead. I could think of nowhere safer to bring her but here." He scowled at his mother. "You would have done the same yourself had you been at Nanpean with Jago. And as you can see, Ysella is already very taken with her."

His mother matched him scowl for scowl. "What I would have done is immaterial as I was not at Nanpean. I can't imagine Jago was very pleased. How do we know she is a respectable young lady who should be consorting with your impressionable sister? Surely, she has someone she can turn to apart from us?"

Kit marched to the fireplace to give himself time to think. Trust his mother to batten on to the one thing he couldn't prove. "She just is respectable," he said, annoyed at his feeble argument. "I know she is. One look at her is enough to tell you she's a lady of good breeding."

His mother joined him at the fireplace. "A lady of breeding can quite easily fall into bad company and lose her reputation. And what about her maid? Did you fish her also from the seabed?"

Kit huffed. "Of course I didn't. I've brought Loveday Curnow with me as her maid."

His mother's lips twitched. "I doubt very much she'll remember the few skills she had from her days at Carlyon Court. But it will please me to see her again." Her brows furrowed. "Do not seek to distract me, Kit. Your Miss Lucas must be from somewhere, surely? And you must ascertain where and return her there immediately. A young lady with no background to speak of is not to be trusted."

"Mother!" Kit exclaimed, his anger rising. "I would have thought that you of all people would be sensitive to her predicament."

His mother bridled. "Do not bring my origins into this, Kit, or you will feel my wrath."

What did he care for her wrath? He was the master here, and since the death of his father, this had been his house. "No, mother, your origins are pertinent to my argument, so I will use them." He caught her hand. "You came from nowhere to marry my father, against the wishes of my grandfather. Yes, he was a younger son of a younger son then, with no thought of inheriting the Ormonde title, but nevertheless, you were not from my father's social circle. And my father's family accepted you when they came to know you. So do not ride your high horse when I bring a young lady here whose pedigree you don't know. Have you become such a snob that you'd turn her out because you've not heard of her father?" His lips curled. "Although I seem to remember my grandfather certainly knew of your father—renowned as he was for his smuggling activities."

His mother's scowl softened a little. "But Kit, she's a nobody."

"As were you, once."

She pressed her lips together. "You say she has Loveday for a maid?"

He nodded. "I couldn't bring her here without one. It wouldn't have been seemly or proper to allow her to travel with me on the mail coach unattended."

"Well," she said. "Loveday was ever a lively abigail and no doubt will suit your Miss Lucas with her look of being somewhat… different." She paused, considering. "And you say her given name is Morvoren? That sounds like a good Cornish name. How appropriate that you pulled a mermaid from the sea." She shook her head. "I don't think I've ever come across the name Morvoren used before, but if ever it suited a girl, it's this one. With that hair she almost looks as though she could be one."

Kit let his lips twitch in the semblance of a smile. "So, she'll stay, Mother, and you'll make her welcome?"

His mother nodded. "I will, although I confess that at first, I feared you had brought your light-o-love here to us."

Now Kit did chuckle. "As if I would. What do you think of me, Mother, that you suspect I would dishonor you by doing that? I have no interest whatsoever in Miss Lucas other than to see her settled safely here, where I know she will be looked after."

Although that wasn't strictly true.