Chapter Ten

J ack ground to a halt, staring at the woman seated opposite Nat’s wife, Caroline. Unmistakable and every bit as alluring in her vulnerability as he remembered, her slightly wind-blown appearance told him she must have walked along the cliff path to get here. But of course, she had no other mode of transport other than her own two legs. Why was it she seemed to be everywhere he went at the moment?

“Caroline. Mrs. Penhallow.” He made a polite, and rather stiff, bow.

“Nat, my dear.” Caroline Treloar greeted her husband. “And Jack as well. How lovely.” She smiled. “I didn’t know you were here, Jack. You seem to have the advantage of Nat and already know our guest.” She glanced back at Nat. “May I present Mrs. Penhallow, who has taken Keynvor Cottage. You know which one. That little thatched cottage round in Bessie’s Cove. Mrs. Penhallow, may I introduce my husband, Major Nat Treloar.”

Nat swept a slightly more flamboyant bow than Jack had done. “Delighted to make the acquaintance of a new neighbor, Mrs. Penhallow. Please forgive this interruption. I had no idea my wife was entertaining.”

Mrs. Penhallow managed a wide-eyed stare, reminding Jack for a moment of a frightened deer, but had her face under control in an instant. “And I you, Major Treloar. But it is I who intrude, as I called without invitation.”

Jack tore his gaze away from Mrs. Penhallow’s face and regarded his friend’s wife. “Nonsense. We are the intruders. Or rather, I am. I do beg your pardon, Caroline. I’ll go.” Anything to get away from the disturbing presence of his rather too lovely new neighbor who, it had to be admitted, appeared to regard him with abhorrence.

“Nonsense,” Caroline said, her smile genuine but, nevertheless, firm. “Sit down, and I’ll send for some refreshment. It’s far too early for brandy, even though I know it’s what you men prefer, so will tea do? I haven’t seen you for such a long time, Jack. We can catch up.”

Nat gave the bell a tug and took one of the upholstered chairs. “Tea will be perfect, my love. We’re happy with a lady’s drink, are we not, Trevelyan?”

Jack frowned. Damn it. No escape. He’d have to sit down and socialize with them all. He took a second chair, pulled further back so they’d have to turn half round to include him in their conversations, too late realizing it gave him a perfect view of Mrs. Penhallow’s rather exquisite profile. What a delicate nose she possessed, and such a high, intelligent forehead. No. He’d best look at Nat’s scarred visage instead. Much better.

“What brings you here today, Jack?” Caroline asked, her air one of someone determined to extract every ounce of information from her visitors.

Flummoxed for a moment by his proximity to Mrs. Penhallow, Jack groped for an answer. “The bad weather,” he finally came up with. “And how it’s affected the crops here at Treloar.” Damn it again. That didn’t sound at all natural, even though it was true.

Caroline raised a delicate eyebrow as though she might not believe his explanation.

Jack managed a smile. “I hear from Nat it’s not caused too much damage to the standing barley your farm manager’s yet to get in.” How was it he felt perfectly at home on the deck of a ship with his men, or in the kiddley, or in a Roscoff drinking den, when here in a society drawing room, even though it belonged to his friends, he felt more like a tongue-tied schoolboy. Ridiculous. Upper-class ladies were surely like other women the world over. Why should it be so much harder to talk with them than it was with those women he was more used to? Even Caroline, whom he knew well, had suddenly taken on the specter of a daunting obstacle.

“That is fortuitous news after all this rain,” Caroline said, ignoring his discomfort and glancing at her husband. “Mrs. Penhallow has a young son, Nat. Yves has taken him outside to show him around. I think it would be nice for our boy to have someone of his own age to play with.”

Nat snorted with laughter. “I hope you told them to stay within the gardens. You know what Yves is like, and if he’s got another boy to egg him on, they could end up anywhere.”

Caroline had the grace to look guilty. “I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry.”

Jack would have smiled if he hadn’t been so on edge. They were boys, for goodness’ sake. Hadn’t Nat got up to all sorts of mischief as a boy? He was damned sure he had himself. He kept silent on that, though.

Mrs. Penhallow’s brows had knit in a frown. “Should we call them back?” She glanced towards the door and her nervous fingers entwined themselves in her lap. She looked as though she’d have liked to jump up and run after them. That boy of hers was far too firmly attached to his mother’s apron strings.

Caroline reached out and patted her guest’s hands. “Pray don’t worry yourself. Yves has enough sense not to go wandering off. I’m sure they’ll stay in the gardens.”

“Since when has Yves had any sense at all?” Nat asked.

His wife shot him a frown. “Since he has become more grown up and responsible, now he’s ten.”

Jack again forbore from commenting, which was just as well, because they were suddenly treated to some shouts of boyish laughter from outside. All eyes turned towards the wide, leaded windows, through which the two boys in question could be seen playing with a dog and a ball. The dog, Yves’ little russet spaniel, Dash, was barking excitedly around them as they threw the ball to one another.

Mrs. Penhallow heaved a sigh of relief. “Perhaps, Major Treloar, you might tell them not to leave the gardens?” She hesitated. “I am a little more conscious of the precarity of life since I lost my husband. My son, Theo, has a propensity to act impulsively, taking after his father the way he does.”

Nat rose to his feet. “If it will set your mind at ease, of course I will.” He went to the window and opened it. Leaning out, he called to the boys. “I would prefer it if you boys stay within the gardens for now. Mrs. Penhallow needs to know where Theo is. We don’t want to be launching any search parties for you when the time comes, now do we?”

Mumbled agreement could be heard from the boys. It sounded disappointed, so who knew what they might have been planning had Nat not intervened. Boys could be daringly adventurous when they wanted to be, as Jack well knew.

Nat returned to his seat. “I gather, Mrs. Penhallow, that your late husband was in the same hussar regiment as I was. I believe I knew a Penhallow. What was his rank?”

For a moment a haunted look flashed over Mrs. Penhallow’s face and in her lap her fists clenched. Whatever for?

When she looked up at Nat, though, her face had gone oddly blank. No emotion at all. The thought that she had to be hiding something washed over Jack. “Captain,” she said, her voice as flat as her expression. “Captain Benedict Penhallow.”

Nat frowned. “A man of medium height with dark hair? I believe we fought side-by-side in Spain.” He touched the right side of his face, where the jagged scar had disfigured his looks. “But, as you can probably imagine, I try not to remember too much about the war. I didn’t return for Waterloo.” He glanced at Caroline. “My wife insisted that I remain here, and I took little persuading. I’ve had my fill of war.”

Mrs. Penhallow nodded. Was that relief in her eyes? “A wise decision. Returning to his regiment turned out to be my husband’s death.”

Not a tear glistened in her eyes as she said this. Jack frowned. In truth, she didn’t appear unduly upset at discussing a husband so recently lost. Not the usual grieving widow, no matter how black her gown and bonnet. Almost, they might be construed as her armor to keep the world at bay.

“There’s another ex-hussar lives in St Ives,” Caroline said. “Captain Fitzwilliam Carlyon. He’s a cousin of my friend Ysella Beauchamp of Carlyon Court. He also would in all probability have known your husband.”

That haunted, wary look flashed back into Mrs. Penhallow’s eyes again, only to be swiftly hidden as she lowered her gaze to her hands.

Jack pressed his lips together in a hard line. He had other reasons than whatever hers were to not want that particular ex-hussar officer hanging around this corner of Cornwall. Captain Carlyon now headed up the county militia charged with both the prevention of smuggling and the apprehension of those doing it. Which meant him and Will for a start, not to mention all their men. If Mrs. Penhallow made friends with him, thanks to a connection with her late husband, the fellow, who was unmarried and had a reputation for liking the ladies, might end up coming calling on her. And that would never do.

“I believe Ysella told me that Captain Carlyon is a bit of a rake,” Jack said. “Not to be entirely trusted around ladies.” He ignored the fact that this might be the pot calling the kettle black. “I would not trust him with a sister of mine.”

“You have a sister?” Mrs. Penhallow asked, her face brightening and her attention diverted from what appeared to be the worrying thought of another hussar officer in the neighborhood. With any luck she wouldn’t want anything to do with Fitzwilliam Carlyon.

Jack shook his head. “Alas, no. Just an expression of speech.” Although this wasn’t entirely true. What about Horatia, Honoria and Lavinia? Nat and Caroline knew about them, of course, but he didn’t feel ready to share their existence with Mrs. Penhallow. Any mention of their names would inevitably lead to explanations he didn’t want to go into. Not with a stranger, beautiful and mysterious or not.

Mrs. Penhallow bestowed a gentle, and slightly bolder, smile upon him. “I myself grew up an only child. So it seems we have something small in common, Captain Trevelyan.”

“Are your parents not still living, Mrs. Penhallow?” Caroline put in.

Mrs. Penhallow shook her head. “My mother died when I was twelve, and my father shortly after my marriage, so until now, there’s been nothing to bring me back to Cornwall. I should mention that I was born in Truro, and my late husband was also Cornish, so for me if perhaps not for my children, this is a return home.”

Caroline nodded. “Your name gives your origins away, of course. But I’m so sorry you’ve lost both parents. My father died some time ago, but my mother was to come and live here with Nat and myself this spring. She was so excited that I was presenting her with a grandchild at last, but she caught a chill last winter and passed away before she could join us. I understand all too well your sadness at losing both parents.”

Mrs. Penhallow bowed her head, evidently a lot more moved by the loss of her parents than the loss of her husband. “I still miss my mother despite the length of time she’s been gone.” She glanced up at Jack from under her long lashes. “You are lucky to have your mother still living and in such robust health.” Her voice, a little bolder again, held real envy.

Nat set down his empty tea dish. “I think you must be the only one here with parents, Jack. I have none, Caroline has none, Mrs. Penhallow has none, Yves has none.” He nodded to Mrs. Penhallow. “I suppose we can count your boy, Theo, as having one parent. But Jack, rather unfairly and greedily, has both of his.”

Jack suppressed a frown. What was Nat doing, bringing his parentage into this conversation? Mrs. Penhallow’s lovely face had taken on a puzzled frown, as well it might with no sign of a Mr. Trevelyan at Rosudgeon.

“Do you ride, Mrs. Penhallow?” Jack asked, in an effort to change the subject before she asked him about his father. “My mother doesn’t ride as much as she used to, and her mare is much in need of exercise. I could ride down leading her and take you out to view the local countryside, if you would care to accompany me? Perhaps tomorrow morning?”

What on earth was he doing? If he didn’t want to involve himself with this woman, despite his body telling him otherwise, why had he just offered to take her riding? Because, on the spur of the moment, he’d not been able to think of anything else to distract everyone from discussing his parentage. Not that it was a particular secret. Just that he didn’t want it bandied about to someone he didn’t know. Yet…

Her face lit up as though he’d just gifted her the crown jewels. “Oh yes, Captain Trevelyan. I love horses and rode to hounds as a girl but had no opportunity to do so when I lived in Bath. I should adore to take to the saddle again. Thank you so much.” Her hazel eyes sparkled at him, her whole face suddenly brought to life with anticipation, the wary fear banished as though forgotten.

Jack couldn’t help the warm feeling that pervaded his chest at having been the one to cause such apparent happiness. This was ridiculous. What was he thinking?

“Bath must have been interesting to live in,” Caroline said. “With the remains of the Roman baths to visit and being able to take the water whenever you wished. You were lucky to be there.”

The joy vanished, and Mrs. Penhallow’s face clouded. “Yes. I suppose I was.” But she didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about her old home. Another odd thing. Not that Jack would have liked to live anywhere but Cornwall, though.

“Nothing so beautiful as Cornwall on a fresh spring day,” Nat said. “Especially after the arid landscapes I saw in Spain and Southern France. Once Cornish, always Cornish. Not something you can extract from your soul and cast away.”

Very true. Jack had been away from Cornwall only a few times, and every time he’d returned it had been with relief. His frequent jaunts across the channel to Roscoff and St Malo didn’t count, as the deck of The Fly felt as much his home as Rosudgeon and just as Cornish.

It was at this point in the conversation that Theo and Yves returned, their faces flushed from being outside and their eyes shining. A reproving hand, held up by Caroline, kept them silent, although their desire to chatter radiated from their eager eyes.

Caroline nodded to Yves, who performed a respectful bow and, after a second, Theo did the same. Jack suppressed a smile, memories flooding back of his own boyhood and how irritated he’d been when he’d wanted to tell his mother something and been prevented from doing so by etiquette.

“You may speak,” Caroline said.

Yves began. “Theo says Cap’n Jack’s going to take him out in The Fly and I can go too.”

Drat it. Jack had let their exchange slip from his mind. He’d dug himself a hole there. He should have known an impressionable, adventurous boy would never have forgotten.

Mrs. Penhallow’s face fell into an even more worried frown than the one she’d worn earlier.

Caroline looked at Jack, her brow furrowing as well. “You did?”

Oh well. Too late now . He nodded. “I did.”

Caroline looked at Mrs. Penhallow. “And you agreed to this?” A slight hint of accusation tinged her voice.

Mrs. Penhallow shook her head with vehemence. “I did nothing of the sort. It was merely a suggestion by the captain that Theo took to mean was a definite arrangement. I don’t mind Theo seeing what it’s like on board a ship, but I do object to him going out to sea. He’s never been on a ship in his life and can’t even swim.”

“Best not to be able to swim,” Yves interrupted. “Then you drown quicker. That’s what Tom Pascoe, our groom, told me.”

Nat wagged a finger at him. “A remark not guaranteed to set Theo’s mother’s mind at ease.”

“But true,” Yves protested. “And you always want me to tell the truth.”

Jack snorted. “I suppose if Mrs. Penhallow allows it, you boys can come aboard the next time The Fly is round in harbor at Bessie’s or Prussia Cove. But you’re not going to sea in her unless Mrs. Penhallow and Caroline allow it.”

“Which’ll be never,” Theo muttered, loud enough for them all to hear.

“And not if you’re rude,” Jack amended. “Best to apologize to your mother, young Theo.” Now he was behaving like a parent himself, when he’d rather have congratulated Theo on standing up for himself. What was he doing? What was the close proximity to Mrs. Penhallow doing to him?

Theo hung his head. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Mrs. Penhallow met Jack’s eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you, Theo. You will allow Mrs. Treloar and me to decide what is right for you boys and abide by our ruling.”

Head still down, Theo nodded. But was that a spark of boyish rebellion Jack spied in his eyes?