Chapter Twenty-Five
Morvoren
Morvoren lay in bed, unable to sleep thanks to the thoughts about last night tumbling over themselves in her head. And enjoying the tumultuous feeling of unrest that was knotting her stomach. They'd arrived home late, or was that early? Whatever it was, it had been full daylight, and, after hot chocolate and toast, Lady Ormonde had decreed, with a benevolent smile, that "her girls" should retire to their rooms to sleep.
Loveday, fresh as a daisy after a good night's sleep, had removed Morvoren's finery and tucked her up in bed with the heavy curtains in her room firmly drawn against the light. Whether Ysella was asleep or not, Morvoren had no idea, but if she'd had half as good a night as she had, then probably not.
She glanced at the light around the edges of the curtains. It was no use. She couldn't sleep. Not after what had happened on the terrace. Yes, she'd made the first move, as any twenty-first-century girl would have done. If she'd waited for gentleman Kit to kiss her, she'd be an old maid, for sure. He wasn't like Lord Flint, grasping and lecherous and desperate to snatch a kiss, or something more. Kit's diffidence had been pulsing out of him in alternate waves with his desire—an odd combination. It had been up to Morvoren to jump in.
And oh, what an experience it had been. She hugged herself at the memory. Yes, she'd naughtily moved her legs apart and pulled him close like that on purpose. And yes, she'd relished the feel of his arousal where it had pressed against her stomach even through the confines of her stays. That he was a young man who wanted her could not have been clearer. And once she'd kissed him, it was as though a dam had been released. Who'd have thought an upright, in more than one way at that particular moment, Regency gentleman capable of such passionate kisses. Not at all restrained Mr. Darcy.
It had been as though once kickstarted, he wanted to eat her up. Not that she didn't want to eat him up too, but she'd resisted the temptation to slide her hands down and casually brush his arousal. She didn't want to embarrass him. That could all too easily put a damper on what she was beginning to hope might be a relationship. Who'd want a fat old marquess when they could have a dashing young viscount with a bent for smuggling? What could be more romantic for a girl brought up on romantic novels and films?
Morvoren wriggled at the thought of seeing him again today. Of him kissing her again. Of his hands running over her body, even if over those horrid stays. Desire for him rose like a tidal wave and she shivered with excitement.
He was definitely not the cold fish she'd first thought him. Not that she'd thought that for some time now. Not since they'd begun her dancing lessons and they'd fallen laughing to the floor. A good ice breaker.
She lay on her back staring up at the four-poster bed's canopy, imagining what it would be like if he were to sneak into her bedroom right now, maybe wearing a silk dressing gown and nothing else, and slide into her bed. Another shiver ran through her body at that delectable thought. It had certainly felt like he had something down his trousers that would satisfy a girl, as long as he knew what to do with it.
Which set her mind off in another direction. What did men do for sex in this era? Did they make love to the society women they knew? Without having to marry them? Did they have affairs with safely married women? Or did they go to sex workers? Or keep a mistress? Did he, heaven forbid, have a mistress somewhere right now? A rather scary thought.
She wriggled again to get more comfortable, the feeling bubbling in her groin refusing to allow her to sleep. Never had she wanted a man as much as she wanted this one, and never had one been so inaccessible, hedged about by the social mores of his society. Or was he? Certainly, fat old Jasper had seemed to think he could steal more than a kiss. Maybe these people weren't so moralistic as she'd been led to believe. Maybe they all went about having sex with whomever they wanted? She certainly wanted sex with Kit. And soon.
Sunlight slanted across the floor of her room from between the curtains, and from outside came the sound of voices in the gardens. Servants, by the sound of them. How much easier it must be for them. No class etiquette to confine them, or not as much as the nobility appeared to have. Or maybe she was wrong on that one too. If only she'd done a history degree instead of an animal science one.
It was no good. She'd have to get up. Perhaps Kit hadn't retired to bed as the women had. He always seemed to have work to do. He was probably with Sam in the estate office right now. The urge to go to him and have him take her in his arms again blossomed in her heart, and elsewhere. She jumped out of bed and rang the bell for Loveday.
"But I thought you was havin' a rest in bed till this afternoon?" Loveday protested when she arrived, looking annoyed, as no doubt she'd been enjoying some time off without having to run around after Morvoren.
"I'm not tired," Morvoren said, taking off her nightgown and throwing it onto the bed. "I need to be up and dressed and doing something. Where are my clothes?"
Loveday hurriedly fetched her underslip and helped her into her stays. Before very long, Morvoren was dressed for the day in a blue-patterned muslin day gown, with Loveday fussing over her hair. The need for urgency pressed in on Morvoren for some reason, and she fidgeted under her maid's ministrations, impatient about the length of time it took a Regency young lady to do her toilette. Or rather, the length of time it took her lady's maid to do it.
"You can't be seen not properly dressed," Loveday chided.
At last, though, she was ready. On nervous feet, she descended the stairs into the hall and headed for the estate office at the back of the house near the servants' area. Outside the large oak door, she paused and tapped smartly on the silvery wood with her knuckles.
"Come in," called Sam's deep voice. Her breath catching in her throat at the prospect of seeing Kit again, Morvoren pushed open the door and went inside.
Sam was sitting alone at the large desk, the ledgers open in front of him.
She halted on the threshold, nonplused.
He smiled. "Can I help you, Miss Morvoren?"
She bit her lip. "I'd hoped to find Kit here with you."
His face fell. "Ah, well, I am afraid, as you see, that I must disappoint you. He's not here."
She stepped into the room, and the door swung shut behind her. "I can see that. Do you know where I might find him?"
Sam set down his pen. "Not here, I'm afraid. He set off for Cornwall no sooner was he back from the ball at Denby. He should be on the mail coach heading west even now."
What?
Morvoren's world swayed about her and, in a flash, Sam was up and fetching her a seat. "Lower your head if you're feeling faint," he suggested. "I'll fetch you a glass of water."
She didn't want the water, but she sipped it obediently when it came, her mind in a turmoil. And not because the man she fancied herself in love with had abandoned her. Oh no. The reason for her spinning head was the memory of that old fisherman's story of the smugglers who'd died and the painting in the tiny museum in Penzance of one of the victims who'd died on the beach at Nanpean. The painting of Kit. If only she knew the date of the attack.
"What ails you?" Sam was asking, his words finally breaking through the whirl of fears churning inside Morvoren's head. "I don't think you should have risen from your bed until this afternoon. You must be overtired."
She shook her head and put the glass of water on his desk. "I'm not tired at all. I have to go. Thank you, Sam, for your help."
She rose unsteadily to her feet and, despite Sam's worried frown, hurried out of the room. As soon as she was away from him, she ran, across the hall, up the stairs and into Ysella's room. The heavy curtains were drawn tighter than hers had been, and the room was in darkness. Without hesitation, she hastened across the thick rugs and snatched the curtains apart, letting the late morning light come spilling in.
Then she turned to the bed and, grabbing Ysella by the shoulders, gave her a good shake.
Ysella woke up straightaway, turning bleary eyes on her attacker. "Whatever is it, Morvoren? Goodness, is it afternoon already?" She pushed herself upright in bed, looking very pretty with her fluffed up dark hair and sleep befuddled face.
"It's Kit," Morvoren said, desperation edging her voice. "He's gone back to Cornwall."
Ysella rubbed her eyes and frowned. "Does that matter? He's more often there than he is here. I think in truth, he's only stayed here over a week because of your presence." A smile chased the frown away. "Are you certain he's gone back to Cornwall?"
Morvoren nodded. "Sam told me. We have to go after him."
"What?" Now she was really awake. "Why ever do we have to do that? He'll be perfectly fine in Cornwall. He doesn't need us down there. And it's such a long way." Her cheeks flushed pink. "And Lieutenant William Beaumont who was at the ball has promised to call on me, I mean on Mama, tomorrow. We can't go haring off after Kit just like that for no reason." She narrowed her eyes. "Even if you are more than half in love with him."
"Yes, he does need us," Morvoren snapped, ignoring the last part of her speech. The terror rose that if she told Ysella the truth, her friend would only think her mad and perhaps call her mother and have her confined in a madhouse from where she'd never be able to save Kit.
"How so?" She drew her knees up and put her arms around them. "You'd best tell me why you think that."
At least she was prepared to listen. Morvoren drew a deep breath. Her heart thundered with fear. She could think of no reason why Ysella wouldn't think her mad and run and tell her mother. However, in for a penny… "The reason I'm not like you is because I wasn't born in this world. I'm from the future."
Ysella stared, the frown returning and deepening. "The future? Do you mean from next week? How funny you are. I said you were an original and I was quite right. I generally am."
Morvoren shook her head. "No, not from next week. From over two hundred years in the future. That's why I've been to university and can ride astride and couldn't dance. That's the absolute truth."
Ysella drew in her bottom lip, studying Morvoren's face, perhaps for signs of madness. Once or twice she opened her mouth, perhaps to put a thought into words, but then closed it again. Eventually, she reached out a hand and laid it on Morvoren's. "For some reason I don't understand, I think I believe you. I have no idea why. I must be as mad as you. Tell me everything."
Thank goodness she at least wasn't laughing at this revelation. But that didn't mean she was going to believe everything Morvoren had to tell her. She would just have to take the risk, because she couldn't get down to Cornwall to save Kit without the help of someone else, and by far the best person to ask was his excitable sister.
So she told her. Starting with the dreadful holiday with Josh, whom she'd not spared a thought for in over a week, and describing the abortive fishing trip and her dip in the sea. Clasping her hands to prevent them shaking, she recounted her theory that there'd been a doorway into Ysella and Kit's world beneath the waves and how Kit had saved her life.
"But the day before I fell into the sea," she said, coming to the crux of her story, "I went to the museum in Penzance. There was a display about the revenue men's raids on the local bands of smugglers—"
"You mean the free traders," Ysella put in.
"All right, the free traders. One of the raids was on Nanpean Cove, in 1811. That's this year. All the smugglers—the free traders—were captured. Three were killed, shot I suppose, down on the beach, and the rest were tried then hanged at Bodmin jail." Morvoren paused, fixing Ysella's rapt face with a hard stare. "There was a copy of a painting of one of the smu—free traders. It was Kit. A copy of the portrait that hangs in the great hall here. Kit was—is one of the free traders who'll be killed on the beach. There's a traitor in their midst who's going to betray them to the revenue men and the soldiers. Who might already have done so."
When Morvoren finished, Ysella sucked in her lips and stared, her hands tight on Morvoren's still, her breasts heaving. Did she believe this? Morvoren had thought she did, but now she wasn't so sure.
"Are you certain Kit will be killed?" Ysella asked at last.
Morvoren nodded. "His name was mentioned in the information. At the time, I didn't know how important it was going to be for me to remember the details. I saw he was a free trader, but I didn't realize the man who rescued me was the person who was going to be killed on the beach. Not until I saw his picture in your great hall. But I do now."
Ysella's hand went to her mouth as she swung her legs out of bed. "The Lawrence portrait in the great hall? You saw that in… in the future? In a museum in Cornwall?"
Morvoren nodded. "I recognized it as soon as I saw it. It just reinforced my conclusion that Kit would be in danger if he were to return to Cornwall."
"Did you warn him?"
Morvoren shook her head. "You're the only one I've been able to tell. I didn't know he was going to go back to Cornwall so soon. I thought he was staying here." She didn't say she'd been more than convinced he would stay after what had happened between them last night. Ysella didn't need to know that. "I thought I had plenty of time to tell him later. I… I thought that if I told him he'd just think me completely mad." She looked down at her hands. "I see now that I should have been braver."
Ysella's turn to shake her head. "He wouldn't have listened. Despite the sometimes-stuffy way he behaves, Kit's always been one to laugh in the face of danger. And you're quite right—he probably wouldn't have believed you. I'm not at all sure why I do. Maybe it's because you've never told me an untruth, and… you taught me to ride astride. I see that in the future, ladies must have a lot more freedom."
"And no stays." Morvoren chewed her lower lip. "I just wish I'd taken in everything the display said about the revenue men and the smugglers. For all we know, Kit will be quite safe now because the raids won't be for months. If only I asked the captain of the fishing boat a few questions. But I didn't, because I was feeling too frightened being on his boat, and just thinking of myself. And when I was in the museum, I was cross with Josh for leaving me and going off fishing on the harbor wall. I didn't pay proper attention as I should have. All I can remember is that it was some time in 1811."
Ysella rang the bell for Martha. "So, you think it could be any time this year?"
Morvoren pressed her lips together. "It could, but I don't think it is. I think I must have fallen through the door at the right time to save his life. What other reason could there be? It couldn't have been random, could it? I have to be here for a reason."
But did she? Or was she falling into the trap of reading purpose in the random happenings of the universe? Was there no such thing as fate?
"Well," Ysella said, beaming. "We shall just have to get down there as fast as we can and save his sorry soul. Even if it isn't quite yet in need of saving. If both of us tell him the same thing, he'll have to believe us, and he can catch the traitor before he commits the betrayal."
At that moment, Martha arrived and, with as disapproving an expression as Loveday and protesting that Ysella should be staying in bed, helped her mistress dress. Morvoren sat and watched, itching at the delay as Martha did Ysella's hair. She couldn't hurry her as they'd both decided to take no chances and not involve any of the servants if they could avoid it.
As soon as Martha departed, Ysella ran to her wardrobe and fetched out a sizeable bag. "Go and pack a valise," she said. "And best to put in our boys' clothes, just in case. This is going to be a wonderful adventure, but we should leave for Cornwall before Mama wakes, which means we only have a few hours. Hurry!"