Chapter Thirty-Two

L ydia and Theo appeared as if by magic as breakfast was being set on the table, Lydia with her hair neatly controlled in a long braid, Theo with his sticking straight up in the air as though no brush had been applied to it in days, which of course it hadn’t. Bertha, used to Theo’s early morning appearance, attacked him with a wet flannel, mainly to smooth his hair into some semblance of order rather than to wash his face. Theo struggled, but was no match for Bertha’s strength and determination.

He sat at the table, a rebellious gleam in his eye. “Might I walk along the cliff path to Roskilly today, to see Yves Treloar? I want to tell him I’ve been out in The Fly. He’ll be green with envy. And maybe he’ll let me ride Blossom.” He beamed at Lydia. “I’m getting good at riding now and I only fell off twice when we were cantering on the beach.”

Lydia pulled a cross face at her brother.

Harriet set down the piece of toast she’d been nibbling. She didn’t much like the idea of him falling off horses, but he’d assured her Blossom was very small so not far to fall, and the sand was always a soft landing. “Yes, Theo, you may go, so long as you don’t ride up onto the cliffs. But I think I can trust you to be sensible, can’t I?”

Theo nodded with vigor and took a large bite out of his own toast and honey. “Thank you, Mama.”

Lydia pushed aside her plate. “Can I go with you this time? Mama said Yves has a girl cousin. I’d like to meet her.”

Theo’s face crinkled in suspicion. “Not just to keep an eye on me and report back to Mama? And not to try and ride Blossom? You’re far too big for her.”

Lydia shook her head. “Not at all. I miss my friends in Bath, that’s all. And I certainly don’t want to ride a tiny pony like Blossom. I’d just like a walk, as the rain’s stopped. Is it far?”

“About a mile and a half,” Harriet said. “But don’t mind me and your lessons, will you?”

Bertha snorted with laughter. “When did they ever mind you?”

“Can I go, please, Mama?” Lydia turned an appealing gaze on her mother. “And I can make sure he obeys you and doesn’t go anywhere near the cliffs.”

“I don’t need minding,” Theo interjected. “I’m twelve, not two. Haven’t you noticed I’m not in petticoats anymore?”

Lydia ignored this outburst and took a sip of tea, eyeing her mother.

Harriet pretended unwilling acquiescence. “If you promise that this afternoon when you return you’ll catch up with your schoolwork.” As this was more than likely going to make sure they stayed for both luncheon and teatime at Roskilly, she doubted she’d see either of her children again until nearly their bedtime, but what did it matter? If they were happy, she was happy, and that was all she cared about right now.

“Thank you, Mama!” Theo and Lydia were up from the table in a trice, and after Lydia had run up and down stairs a few times for various things she’d forgotten, and Theo had stood tapping his foot with impatience by the kitchen door, they finally set off, almost, but not quite, an endearing picture of sibling cooperation.

Without their vibrant presence, the cottage felt suddenly quiet and bare. Bertha rose from the table. “Well, I’m away up to the farm to buy us some milk and eggs and to see if they’ve any more of that nice cheese young Theo likes so much. After I’ve washed up.”

Harriet rose, too. “No need. Leave that to me. Here’s some money.” She fished in her reticule. “Why not spend the day with your friend? I’m happy in my own company here and will just clear the dishes and then sit outside in the sun while it’s out and take the opportunity to read a book. You go on up to the farm and see Mrs. Voas. No doubt she’ll be wanting to know what gossip you’ve got this time.” She smiled. “Only be careful what you tell her about mine and Theo’s adventures.”

Bertha made a small pretense of wanting to do the dishes, but Harriet ushered her off to find her bonnet and shawl, took the kettle from the range and filled the sink. Immersing her hands in the hot water, she began to wash their plates and cups.

Having planted a departing kiss on Harriet’s cheek, Bertha also departed, armed with a cake she’d baked for her friend, and now the house was really silent. Once the dishes were done, Harriet dried and put them away, then went to the table to sit and drink a second cup of tea.

The silence pressed in around her, almost heavy in its depth, as though it were shouting in her ears, and the tempting autumn sun shone in through the kitchen window. If she did what she’d told Bertha she was going to do and found herself a book, she could take a chair out onto the front and sit and read for a while, undisturbed. A pleasure rarely afforded her, even in Bath.

Now, where would Lydia have stored her small library?

She climbed the stairs to their bedroom and commenced a search. She soon found the small pile of books Lydia loved to read over and over again, mainly because they were the only ones she possessed, and selected Maria Edgeworth’s Irish tale of Castle Rackrent . She’d read it before, of course, but so she had all of the books that had once been hers but had somehow migrated to being Lydia’s possessions. Having found her own shawl, in case of autumn chill remaining, and with the book tucked under her arm, she descended the stairs, collected one of the kitchen chairs, and approached the kitchen door.

Setting her hand on it, she pulled it open.

Jack was standing on the doorstep, his beaver hat in one hand. His other hand was raised as though about to knock, and his expression was as taken aback as no doubt Harriet’s was.

“Oh,” she managed. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“And you,” he said, then uncharacteristically blushed, no doubt realizing the ridiculousness of having said it was a surprise to see her in her own house.

They stood for a moment, staring at one another, before Harriet remembered her manners. “I was about to sit outside and read a book.” She gestured to the chair. “For once in my life I find myself quite alone and with time to do as I wish. The children are gone to visit young Yves at Roskilly, and Bertha has walked up to the Voas’s farm for supplies. I said she could stay and talk to her friend for the day if she wished. I sounded kind but in truth, I just wanted some time to myself. But perhaps you would prefer to come inside and I could make a fresh pot of tea?”

Jack had about him an air of awkwardness that was quite unlike him. He shifted from one foot to the other, his grip on his hat tightening until the knuckles whitened. “I don’t want to disturb you if you’d rather be alone…” He made to turn away in a half-hearted manner.

The disturbing thought that she didn’t want him to leave shot through her. “No. Don’t go. I should very much enjoy your company. I only meant I wanted time away from being a mother.” She held up the book. “I was going to take the opportunity to read, but this is a book I’ve read before, several times, so it can wait.”

He turned back, unmistakable relief in his eyes. “Perhaps we could sit outside together. With autumn well on, and winter close behind, it seems a shame to miss one of Cornwall’s fine days by sitting inside.” He waved his hand. “You choose your spot and I’ll fetch another chair.”

While he went in search of a chair, Harriet selected the most sheltered, sunniest spot, where a few hardy climbing roses that must once have been tended by the previous tenant climbed bravely up the wall of the cottage. A scattering of pink flowers remained from her dead-heading attentions before her trip in The Fly . The final blooms of autumn. She sat herself down and arranged the skirts of her work dress demurely. If only she’d known Jack was coming she’d have dressed with more care.

*

Inside the kitchen, Jack stood for a moment, breathing deeply in an effort steady his pounding heart. The decision he’d made that morning to come straight down to Keynvor and propose marriage to Harriet now seemed an almost insurmountable obstacle. His confidence had slowly waned the nearer he’d come to carrying out his intention, and now he found his hands were shaking as he gripped hard to the tabletop. What was he, some lily-livered young beau with no experience of women and love?

That thought brought realization with it. He really did have no experience of love. He might know women, might have had his fun with a fair number of them in his time, but he had never loved any of them, and none of them had loved him. They’d been willing participants and so had he, but his emotions had never been involved, just his sense of enjoyment. So he really was the equivalent of a green young beau falling in love for the first time. Despite being thirty years old.

What if she turned him down? What if he couldn’t get up the courage to even ask her? The damage her husband had done her might be too much to overcome. She might not want to risk herself with another man, and he wouldn’t blame her. He racked his empty head for a way to prove to her that he’d be different. No inspiration came. But surely, now he was a baronet, to boot, she’d accept him?

She’d be wondering where he’d got to. He grabbed the nearest chair and carried it outside to set beside hers, as close as he dared. Then he flicked the tails of his coat out of the way and sat down.

The book rested unopened in her lap, and she was staring off into the distance, where, over the autumn-gilded treetops, the blue of the sea stretched towards the far horizon. And Roscoff.

“It’s a beautiful view,” he said. “I never tire of looking at the sea.”

She nodded. “At first, I didn’t think I would like living here. When I saw the state the cottage was in, my heart quailed, but I had to put on a brave face for my children.”

Jack watched her delicate profile. She was a woman who’d no doubt had to put on a brave face many times and for many different reasons. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”

She nodded, but didn’t turn her head. “So am I.”

This was at least going in the direction he wanted it to go in. “You’ve made this corner of Cornwall all the more beautiful by your presence.”

Now she did turn her head to look at him, and he took advantage by reaching out and taking one of her hands. She made no attempt to snatch it back but regarded him out of her solemn, hazel eyes, as though seeking to see inside him to his very soul. “You say some pretty things.”

He gazed into those eyes. “Pretty things about a beautiful woman.”

Her lips parted a little, and he had to restrain himself from leaning forward to plant a kiss on them. She wasn’t like his other women. He had to draw her in little by little, gentling her like a skittish filly.

Every part of him tingled with awareness of how close she was and he couldn’t help his body’s instinctive reaction. He crossed his legs in an effort to disguise his growing erection. Damn it, but she was so lovely he couldn’t control himself.

Had she noticed? A little smile lingered around her mouth. “You are more than kind. I’m sure you’ve met many women more beautiful than me.”

He shook his head. “Never.”

The color rose from her breasts up her throat to her cheeks, but she never took her eyes from his. “Never?” Her voice trembled.

Exultation flowed through him. She felt as he did, surely. That couldn’t be fear. Best to get his speech, that he’d been practicing on his walk down from Rosudgeon, out of the way. “Harriet.” How he loved to speak her name aloud. “You must know that I have feelings for you. No. Don’t speak. Let me say my piece. And I know that you suffered in your marriage to the father of your children to the extent that you feel real fear of allowing yourself to feel anything for another man.” He paused, but she remained silent, watching him out of wary eyes.

“I’ve come here today to assure you that I am not like your husband. I know I could just be saying that, but believe me, it is quite true. I freely admit that I’m no saint. I’ve known a number of women in my time and I’ll not deny it. But they were all willing participants and benefited from their association with me.” Now he was making it sound like a business deal, which in truth, a fair few of them had been. “All of them would speak highly of me, I think. None would call me cruel or demanding.” What was he doing? Offering her references? How hot his cheeks had grown. “In short, I want you to know that I would never expect anything of you that you weren’t willing to give.” He ground to a halt.

She hadn’t dropped her gaze, but had caught the left side of her bottom lip under her teeth. Her breasts rose and fell with a rapidity that tokened deep emotion. Let it not be revulsion.

“Jack,” she said, her voice gentle but, nevertheless, containing a tremor. “You speak of what you will and will not do, but I have no idea what it is you want me to do. In all your speech, you have not said.”

Oh God. Nor had he. In one swift movement Jack dropped onto one knee before her, capturing her other hand as well. “Harriet, will you do the honor of marrying me?”