Chapter Thirteen

Morvoren

Ormonde Abbey was like something out of a film or a television drama, and here Morvoren was, a part of it, in a kind of dream existence, yet everything was real. Somehow, she'd found herself living the sort of life some people, although not her, dreamed of. But for now, while it was still a novelty, she determined to find it in her to enjoy all these new experiences and push thoughts of what she'd left behind in her own world to the back of her mind. As well as everything about Jago Tremaine, the Mr. Big of Cornish smuggling.

Everything about this new, or should it have been old, world astonished her: the sprawling decadence of the house, the sumptuous bedrooms with their four-poster beds, the gorgeous clothes provided to her by a girl who seemed needily intent on becoming her best friend, the beautifully laid out gardens and the wide stretch of deer park beyond, the retinue of servants to fetch and carry for all of them… and Kit.

Behind everything, there was Kit, an enigma of a man who apparently divided his life between that of lord of the manor here at Ormonde and being a desperate smuggler in league with his dodgy uncle in Cornwall.

Now that they were away from Jago's farm, Morvoren was going to have time to relax and make the most of her surroundings. But that first day, at Kit's insistence, she spent the entire afternoon sleeping in her room.

Ysella protested. "But why does Morvoren need to rest? I'd much rather she and I could get to know one another better."

Kit frowned and shook his head. "Morvoren has had more than twenty-four hours of traveling, Ysella, and must be exhausted. It's impossible to get much rest in a mail coach, as you know."

Ysella pouted. "I'm sure I don't know. I never get to go anywhere, certainly not in a mail coach, and probably never will."

Kit's frown became a scowl all too easily. "And if you're not careful your words will come true. Now, allow Morvoren the afternoon to rest, something you might find beneficial yourself."

Whether Kit also retired to rest in his room, Morvoren had no idea, but the moment she wriggled out of her gown and stays, and her head hit the silk pillows on her borrowed bed, she was asleep.

Loveday woke her for dinner in the late afternoon. "Miss Ysella's sent a dress for you to wear for dinner."

Morvoren's eyes widened. "What? Another one? Shouldn't I just keep the blue one on?"

Loveday gave a solemn shake of the head. "Proper ladies and honorables, like Miss Ysella and her ma, they always change for dinner. I learned that when I worked at Carlyon Court, Miss Morvoren. 'Tisn't done to wear the same dress all day long. An' this one she's sent is right pretty. An' Martha's given me another lesson on how to do your hair."

Morvoren finally escaped Loveday's primping and emerged onto the wide corridor to find Ysella hopping up and down with scarcely concealed impatience outside her door.

"Did you sleep well?" She tucked her arm through Morvoren's. "Mama used to try to make me take a nap of an afternoon—so tiresome when there's so much to do. I like to make the most of my days. I do hope you'll enjoy dinner. Mama asked Cook to prepare Kit's favorite, as usual. Cook is so clever—last year for Kit's birthday she made real ice cream for him. We have an icehouse, of course, so it's easy for Cook. Quite delicious, but she doesn't do it very often. I believe I'll ask Cook if she can make us some while you're here. Kit will love it."

Her constant rattle of conversation left Morvoren, not a girl of many words, stunned, even a little shell-shocked. It hadn't taken her long to work out that Ysella was a young woman badly in need of someone to talk to other than her mother or her maid. However, despite the afternoon of sleep, or perhaps because of it, Morvoren was still very tired. She'd probably be able to cope with Ysella's boundless enthusiasm better after a good night's sleep. Hopefully, dinner would be over quickly, and she could return to bed.

Unfortunately, dinner in the great hall turned out to be a protracted affair of many courses, most of which Morvoren recognized but few she could do more than nibble, exhausted as she still was. To her relief, though, every time Lady Ormonde tried to engage her in conversation, Kit interrupted and headed his mother off in a different direction. Either he realized Morvoren's persistent exhaustion, or he didn't want his mother prying her financially destitute state out of her. For whatever reason, it enabled Morvoren to listen rather than talk, as Ysella chattered on and on to her mother and brother about horses, people she knew, and a musical recital her mother had taken her to in Marlborough last week.

A good hour and a half passed before they were all able to retire to the drawing room. Taking Morvoren's arm, Ysella pulled her to sit beside her on one of the prickly, over-stuffed, sofas, while Lady Ormonde took a second for herself and Kit stood stiffly by the fireplace. He had the borderline haunted look about him of a man who didn't want to be confined in a drawing room with three women, two of whom didn't seem to like one another. What a good thing Ysella was so friendly.

While Kit made conversation about the parkland and farms with his mother, Ysella kept up her wall of chatter, most of which washed over Morvoren's head. She couldn't muster the concentration to listen, and sat there, held stiff and upright thanks to her stays, trying to stifle her yawns behind her hand and prevent her eyelids from drooping.

At last, Kit must have noticed her futile attempts to disguise her extreme tiredness because he approached the sofa, a contrite expression on his face that might have been genuine. "I must apologize, Morvoren. I see you're still fatigued from your journey." The slightest of commisatory smiles graced his handsome face. "I fear we're keeping you from your bed. Perhaps you'll allow me to escort you up to your room?"

Morvoren threw him a grateful look and didn't argue. Taking the arm he offered, she bid good night to Ysella and her mother and let him lead her out of the drawing room and up the stairs. They walked in silence, Morvoren because she was so tired, and him probably for the same reason.

At her bedroom door, Kit halted. The walk had revived Morvoren a little, and now she looked up into his somber face and felt a longing to see that ghost of a smile transform his expression again. He was far too serious for so young a man. For a fearless smuggler. If asked, seriousness would not have been on the list of characteristics she'd have expected of smugglers. But how handsome he was. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be kissed by him, the thought bringing heat to her cheeks.

"I don't think your mother likes me very much," she said, keeping her voice low even though nobody was about. In a house like this, servants might lurk around every corner, and she didn't want them gossiping about her any more than was necessary.

The frown she was so used to returned. "Nonsense, she was just taken by surprise by your arrival."

Morvoren managed a smile, aware of heat washing over her whole body as it reacted to his close proximity. "I take it you don't usually turn up here with young ladies you've pulled out of the sea and had to provide with clothes and a place to sleep?"

The frown dissipated and his eyes crinkled at the corners, as though he were fighting the urge to smile. "No. You're right. This is a first for me."

Was that a twitch of the lips as well? With only the light from the candles set in wall sconces, she couldn't be sure.

She gazed into his eyes. He was really very handsome when he wasn't frowning. Well, very handsome when he was, as well. Handsome in a rugged, devil-may-care way that set her pulse galloping. She tried another smile. "I hope I'm not inconveniencing your mother too much."

He shook his head. "Not at all. This is my house. My mother will do as I say."

This was clearly a man used to having the women in his life obey him. Probably like most men of his time. Hmmm. Now she was feeling less shocked by her arrival two hundred years in the past, her confidence was returning. A good night's sleep would be a great restorative. She needed her wits about her in this world.

She smiled again and was rewarded by another twitch of his lips. "Goodnight, Kit." And she went into her bedroom.

*

Kit

Well, that hadgone off without too many problems and his mother might even be softening toward their new house guest. And now he'd got her away from Nanpean, Kit had undergone a distinct softening of his own. Morvoren was such a pretty girl when she smiled… now she was properly dressed. Although she'd been most alluring in just those strange breeches.

He shook his head to clear it of that all too revealing image. No, he needed to concentrate on other things, not how she'd looked when almost naked… how her body had felt when he'd carried her up from his boat… how his own body was reacting at the mere thought of her in that semi-undress. Most distracting. Any softening in his mother would be completely undone were he to show an interest in Miss Lucas—Morvoren—other than as a gentleman helping a lady in distress. He'd make sure and leave her in his sister's more than capable hands tomorrow and go and pay Sam Beauchamp, his estate manager, a visit in his office. Sam always had things that needed discussing. Anything to keep out of the disturbing Miss Morvoren Lucas's way.

He walked along the corridor to the top of the stairs. Should he go back down to join his mother and sister? The hour was early as yet, but he'd had as tiring a couple of days as Morvoren, and not benefited from an afternoon of sleep. If only mail coaches were more comfortable vehicles and didn't blow those blasted posthorns so loudly every few miles.

Ysella forestalled any decision by coming running up the stairs. "Mama said I should go to bed myself to get some beauty sleep," she called out to him when she was only halfway up. "I didn't argue because I wanted to talk to you. She's taking coffee in the drawing room. Can we go into your bedroom?"

Heaving a sigh, Kit nodded, and with his sister scurrying by his side retraced his footsteps along the corridor to the far end. Ysella opened the door and skipped inside, not in the least resembling a girl who needed either her bed or her beauty sleep.

Kit sat down on one of the upholstered chairs beside his cold fireplace, and Ysella plumped herself down on the other, leaning toward him with the air of someone who intended to extract every last grain of information. "Do tell," she said. "Is she a real mermaid?"

Back to that again. Kit shook his head. "I know her name means mermaid, but I hate to disappoint you, Yzzie. She has legs. Did you not notice whilst you were primping her in your room?"

And didn't he know she had legs.

No.

He had to shut that image out of his head even though it kept shouldering its way back inside.

Ysella made a moue. "It's well known that once mermaids are on land their tails become legs. And you did fish her out of the sea, after all. Then there's her name. Although, if I were a mermaid, I'd give myself a non-mermaidy name so that landlubbers wouldn't suspect me." She tilted her head to one side. "Tell me everything. She's such a delightful creature with such lovely hair, and so pretty. I want to know everything about her."

Kit shrugged, instinct warning him not to give too much away. Yzzie was an empty-headed prattler at times and could not be trusted with a secret. "Not an awful lot to tell, I'm afraid. Just that I pulled her out of the sea in my net. Once she'd recovered, I took her to Penzance, where she told me she'd been staying, only we couldn't find the house she remembered anywhere. So, as she was alone in the world, I employed Loveday as her maid and thought it best to bring her here." He huffed. "Although I should have guessed Mother would object."

"A mystery!" Ysella clapped her hands together, ignoring the criticism of their mother. Trust her to fasten on the romance of the story. "A romantic mystery. Just like in Mrs. Radcliffe's The Mystery of Udolpho!"

Kit frowned. What had she been up to while he was away? "Have you been filling your head with romantic nonsense again? How did you get your hands on that book?"

Ysella bridled but didn't manage to look very contrite. "Caroline gave it to me." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "And it is the most exciting story. So frightening." She paused. "If you were to read it yourself, then you'd know."

Kit shook his head. "I have no wish to read gothic mysteries, thank you, Yzzie. I can't imagine that Mother would approve this as suitable reading material, can you? If I ask her, will she be aware you've been reading it?"

Ysella's close study of her hands where they lay clasped in her lap gave him the answer to that.

"She doesn't know, does she?"

Ysella shook her head. "And it's too late, anyway," she retorted in a so-there tone of voice. "Because I've read it now and returned it to Caro."

"And you think Caro's mother will be happy that she has read it and loaned it to you?" Kit snapped. "Mrs. Fairfield is likely to be as angry as Mother if she finds out."

Ysella peeped up at him from beneath her long lashes. "Well, neither of them are likely to find out unless you very meanly tell them." Her lips formed the sweetest of smiles.

He sighed. How was he supposed to stay angry with her when she looked at him like that? She'd known how to twist their father around her little finger and now she was doing it with him. Every time he tried to tell her off, she bounced back as resiliently as ever, supremely confident that her beloved brother couldn't truly be cross.

She knew she'd won. "But tell me, Kit dearest," she said, a naughty dimple appearing in her cheek. "Don't you think Morvoren quite the prettiest girl you've ever seen?"

Now she'd put him on the spot. For a moment, he was lost for words. Of course he thought her pretty. How could he not? She was indeed the prettiest, no, the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes on, but he wasn't about to say so to his sister or he'd have no peace and she'd be bound to let something slip to Morvoren. "She is tolerably attractive," he said, then could have kicked himself for sounding so pompous.

Ysella was clearly of the same opinion. "Oh, fustian!" she exclaimed. "How old are you, Kit? Twenty-seven or sixty-seven? You sound like one of the old dukes and earls in White's puffing on their cheroots and supping their port while they compare their gouty old feet."

Kit snorted with laughter, even though he knew he shouldn't have. "And what does a chit like you know of White's?"

Ysella tapped her nose. "More than you'd think. Caro's father is a member and she's overheard him talking about it. A lot. You know how her father can talk. Mother says he could talk the hind leg off a donkey."

"And Mother won't like you repeating that," Kit scolded. "It's a very rude thing to say."

"Mother said it."

"I can't imagine she said it in your company, though. You've been eavesdropping again. You know what they say about eavesdroppers—they end up hearing bad things about themselves."

Ysella giggled. "No one says bad things about me."

Kit shook his head. "You mean you've never heard anyone say anything bad. For all you know, nobody likes you."

She made a moue again. "Now you're being nasty, and I know you don't mean it." But she couldn't pretend a sulk for long. "I don't care what you say, Kit, I've made up my mind. I've seen the way Morvoren looks at you, and the way you keep taking sly looks at her when you think no one's paying attention. But you can't fool your sister. I think you and she will make an excellently good match."

Kit opened his mouth to protest, aware of heat creeping up his face, but Ysella was too fast for him. "I know Caro won't mind one bit. She doesn't want to marry you anyway. She's in love with a soldier. I can't remember his name, but she already told me that whatever Mama and her mother arrange, she's not marrying you. Even though you are a viscount."

Kit's embarrassment, that he hoped she hadn't noticed in the dimly lit bedroom, was replaced by amusement. "Well, all I can say is, that's good to know, as I too have no intention of marrying her."

Undaunted, Ysella nodded vigorously. "When I marry," she declared, "it will be for love. And I would like you to do the same, Kit. I would like to see you as happy as I intend to be."

Kit shook his head. "I have no intention of marrying anyone for quite some time, Yzzie, so you can call a halt to your matchmaking plans."

For answer, Ysella tapped her nose again and got to her feet. "I'm going to bed now, so I can be up early in the morning for a ride in the park before breakfast." She leaned forward and kissed her brother on the cheek. "Goodnight, darling Kit."