Chapter Seven

H arriet unfastened the cloak and shrugged out of the soggy garment. The good thing about wool was that when it got wet, it stayed warm, and despite the wind and the rain now rattling against the door and windows, she wasn’t too chilled. However, the hem of her gown was not just wet, but soaked and spattered with mud as well. What a good thing she’d worn her boots and not the dainty slippers she usually wore about the house.

“Miss Harriet.” Bertha, after an initial shock that had held her unmoving for a few seconds, lumbered up from the table and hurried to take the cloak. “Whatever were you doin’ out in weather like this? We was all worried about you.”

Lydia and Theo nodded in chorus. “Where’ve you been?” Lydia asked, her gaze flicking to Jack’s even wetter figure right beside her. Theo’s eyes had widened in something akin to outright fear at the sight of a man in their kitchen.

Captain Trevelyan shook himself like a dog, water flying from his hair. He must be soaked through with no cloak on, although his woolen topcoat would have kept him warm as her cloak had. He rather filled the kitchen, large though it was, the top of his head in danger of brushing the now cobweb-free rafters. As tall as Locky Massen, but with only half the width.

Bertha took charge. “Come and stand by the range, the pair o’ you.” She caught Harriet’s hand and, with the other, ushered Captain Trevelyan to go before them as though she were herding hens. A small smile played on the captain’s lips as he allowed himself to be hustled over to stand by the heat, one hand going up to swipe the hair out of his eyes. If Harriet hadn’t been so nervous, she might have better appreciated how extraordinarily handsome he was…

She remembered herself, just in time. She really mustn’t dwell on her escort’s good looks and remember her status as a recent widow, and why she had vowed never to have anything to do with a man again. However, she couldn’t deny that with looks like that he was most distracting. She could allow herself, perhaps, to look, despite her vow never to be tricked into love again. “Captain Trevelyan, may I introduce my children, Lydia and Theodore. And this redoubtable lady is their nurse, who is our only servant, Bertha.”

Bertha pulled two of the chairs away from the table and set them close to the range, clearly prepared to treat their imposing male visitor just as she would Theo if he’d been out in the rain and come home soaked. “Just you sit down there, and I’ll make you some nice, hot tea.”

The captain’s brows rose, but he took the offered seat, sweeping his wet coat tails out of the way as he sat down.

Perhaps he was expecting some other kind of refreshment now he’d got himself soaked through on her account? That was what men always wanted, wasn’t it? “Bertha, the brandy for the captain, if you please.”

Bertha’s brow lowered in disapproval.

His lips twitched. “Pray don’t put yourself out, Bertha. Hot tea will do nicely and warm me better. I find it an excellent pick-me-up in situations like this. Far better than brandy in all ways.” He flashed Bertha a charming smile, and Bertha’s cheeks, already rosy from the heat, became even rosier, as no doubt she chalked up his refusal of alcohol as being in his favor.

Heavens. Harriet had never seen Bertha react to a man like this. What was the world coming to? Even an elderly servant could be swayed by good looks, it seemed, and, of course, the refusal of the brandy. Not that Bertha had ever appreciated Ben’s good looks.

Bertha added fresh boiling water to the teapot on the range and gave the contents a stir, a definite benign expression on her homely face as she peeped sideways at their guest. Was she, for goodness sake, susceptible to the flattery of a man? Bertha, who’d barely tolerated Ben on his infrequent visits home from the army, and always with an air of resentment at his intrusion into their comfortable domestic setup. Even though she’d not known the half of it. This was something quite new.

About the captain hung a slight hint of resignation, as though he’d decided he had to put up with staying here to warm up a bit, out of politeness, perhaps. But he kept his tawny eyes fixed on the object of his attention—Bertha’s stout form.

Why on earth was he fixating on her servant? Harriet frowned. What was going on here? Not that she wanted his attentions herself, but really, this was very odd.

Theo leaned across the table, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Are you an army captain or a ship’s captain?”

“Manners, Theo.” Lydia, who also happened to be staring at the captain in fascination, could never resist the opportunity to correct her brother.

Theo shot her a scowl and tried again. “Are you an army captain or a ship’s captain, sir ?”

“Ship’s captain,” Trevelyan said, taking the cup of tea Bertha handed him with yet another charming, and this time suitably grateful, smile and bringing a fresh blush to Bertha’s ruddy cheeks. There was no denying that he’d made an immediate conquest of her servant.

Harriet scolded herself for her thoughts and amended them, because, after all, she didn’t want the captain smiling at her like that. Did she?

Theo’s face had lit up at the mention of a ship. “And do you have a ship of your own? Sir? I love ships. I want to be a sailor when I grow up, if Mama will allow it. A captain like you. With my own ship. In His Majesty’s Navy. Like Admiral Nelson.”

Harriet’s brow furrowed. Did the captain have a ship, or was he on leave, perhaps, from the navy? There were a few different types of captain he could be, although, looking at him, he didn’t have the air of a naval man. Too roguish. She knew enough about men serving in both the army and the navy to suspect the man before her had never been in either. He seemed so very different to Ben and the few friends he’d ever brought to their house.

“I do indeed have a ship of my own,” the captain replied, that strong mouth of his twitching again as though he might be finding this conversation with so small a boy amusing.

Theo sucked his lips in and threw a sideways glance at Harriet. “Could I see your ship, do you think? Sir? Please?”

High time to intervene before Theo forged a link between them that would be hard to break. “Captain Trevelyan must be a very busy man, Theo. Too busy to take curious small boys to see his ship, I’m certain. You must stop pestering him.” Just because Mrs. Trevelyan had seen fit to bestow her kindness on them didn’t mean her son would feel inclined the same way towards Theo. Most men, and this had included her own husband, saw small boys as a nuisance to be avoided. Both children had been very much “seen but not heard” while their father had been in residence, but especially Theo.

To her surprise, Captain Trevelyan shook his head. “Not at all, Mrs. Penhallow. I should be delighted to show Theodore my ship when it’s convenient. She’s round at Penzance now—in harbor I would hope in this weather—but when I rejoin her, I’d be happy to show your son around.” He bestowed a smile on Theo. “I can even take you out to sea if you like. I’m assuming with your surname, you’re Cornish born?”

Theo bounced up and down on his chair with glee. “You will? Thank you, sir. Thank you.” He beamed back, full of boyish excitement. “I am Cornish, only I wasn’t born here. Mama and Papa both were, though. In Truro. And please call me Theo—Mama only uses Theodore when she thinks I’ve been doing things I shouldn’t.”

“Which is all the time,” Lydia put in, a trifle waspishly.

Captain Trevelyan laughed, the sound somehow too loud and masculine in a kitchen that had shrunk in on itself with him sitting in it.

Too much masculinity by far, and Harriet’s skin crawled just a little at the thought of how very male he was. His laugh was more of a guffaw, really, nothing like the way Ben had laughed when… She shook herself. Probably he was used to having to do everything loudly on a ship.

He held out his tea dish to Bertha for a refill. “If you’re to become my shipmate even for a day, young Theo, then don’t call me sir. Call me Cap’n. That’s what my crew call me.”

Theo’s eyes shone. “Yes, sir, Cap’n.” He clasped his hands on the tabletop. “I wish I had been born in Cornwall, but Mama left Truro when she married Papa, and Lyddie and I were born in Bath .” He loaded his voice with scorn for the city’s name. “It’s a city. Lots of houses and no ships at all. Only a canal and a river, and the sort of barges that go up and down those are pulled by a horse. Not real ships at all.”

Harriet frowned, her thoughts elsewhere. Had she not hinted heavily enough that she didn’t want Theo having anything to do with the captain’s ship? Ships were dangerous, as the present weather was enough to prove, not to mention the plethora of wrecks that surrounded the Cornish coast, that her own long-gone father had told her about as a child. She did not want her only son on board a ship, and especially not going to sea in what could be a leaky old hulk. Still, she could head this one off when the moment arrived, by finding an excuse for Theo not to go. She’d think about it then.

She sipped her tea, not quite sure what to say to this imposing specimen of manhood filling the chair on the other side of the range, charming her children and her servant and drinking tea out of one of the cups his mother had donated yesterday and that were probably his in the first place.

Luckily, he spoke first. “Do you intend to stay at Keynvor long, Mrs. Penhallow?”

“I hope not,” Lydia said, from the table where she was now leaning on her closed book.

Harriet frowned a warning. “I don’t really know.” How much had his mother told him? Did he think her an indigent widow woman? Well, if he did, he was right. The mortification of this realization sent heat to her cheeks yet again. Thank goodness they were sitting so close to the range that he would think her pink cheeked only from warming up after her drenching. “We are here thanks to the kindness of my late husband’s aunt.” She paused, deciding to be honest. No point in hiding their situation. “After my husband died, I discovered he had amassed some… gambling debts. Once these were paid off, I was left with very little, so was most thankful when my husband’s solicitor informed me that Mrs. Bolitho had so generously offered us this cottage. I see no possibility of change on the horizon, so we shall be here for some time to come, despite what Lydia would prefer.”

Out of the corner of her eye she spied Lydia’s resigned scowl.

The captain regarded her from out of those golden eyes, the reflected flames from the range dancing in them, and nodded. No charming smile for her, though. “I see. My mother wasn’t terribly clear about your circumstances. She is a rather… disorganized person and often forgets to pass on things she’s been told. You have my commiserations for your plight. Might I be so bold as to enquire as to the circumstances of your husband’s demise?”

Had his mother not mentioned Waterloo to him? Best to be honest about that too. Not too honest, though. “My husband, Ben, was a captain in the 18 th Hussars. He fought in Spain and southern France before Bonaparte surrendered. He returned home…” She faltered. “Then he was recalled this year, when the Little Corporal escaped from Elba, and returned to France. Ben was killed at Waterloo.”

Somehow, the retelling of his loss felt cathartic. It was something that needed putting behind her, shut away in a box with no key, so she could get on with her new life without him. But she hadn’t been able to, thanks to her anger at the situation he’d left his family in. The situation he’d left his children in. For herself, she could have managed, but with children… how hard it would be for them from now on. She’d had to withdraw Lydia from her school and dismiss Theo’s tutor, Monsieur Bulot, in order to teach them herself, something that didn’t guarantee family harmony. And on top of that, there’d been the loss of the house she’d loved and where her children had been born…

She sighed. “My husband loved the army, Captain Trevelyan. I know he would have been proud to give up his life for his country.” At least that wasn’t a lie. He would have seen it as the only way a soldier should end—death rather than retirement. He’d hated those months kicking his heels in Bath, something he’d made abundantly clear, and been overjoyed when Boney had escaped his imprisonment. So had Harriet, but for different reasons.

The captain’s eyes narrowed. Could he perhaps read between the lines of the story she was telling? “I believe one of my neighbors, a boyhood friend of mine, was himself an officer in the 18 th . Major Nathaniel Treloar, of Roskilly House, whose wife my mother recommended you visit. He might well know of your husband.” He paused. “He was not himself at Waterloo having resigned his commission last year and taken on the responsibility of being guardian to his young cousin. And he was just married.” He glanced at Theo. “The young cousin he’s in charge of is of an age with your son, I think. Perhaps Theo would like to meet him? I could show them The Fly together.” A small smile escaped him this time. “I know at their age I craved the company of other boys.”

Harriet relaxed. That sounded a more acceptable rendezvous for Theo. Better than having him run away to sea with ideas of adventure, as boys his age had been known to do. Twelve was not too young to become a midshipman in the navy, even though to her he was still her little boy.

“That would be lovely,” Harriet said. “As your mother was so kind as to suggest it, I think I will walk round to visit them. Not now. When we have settled in and the weather has improved.”

Theo interrupted. “I could go there on my own, Mama. Where is Roskilly? Is it far? Cap’n?”

“Maybe a little over two miles along the cliff path,” the captain said. “An easy walk for a boy your age.”

Harriet shook her head. “Not on your own, Theo. That would be quite rude. All three of us will walk that way in a day or two, after this storm abates, and hope for you to make the acquaintance of the boy who lives there.”

The captain rose to his feet. “And now I must leave you, Ma’am. I don’t anticipate any let up in the weather, so I might as well set out now, rather than wait.” He turned to Bertha, his smile returning. “My thanks to you for the restorative nature of your tea.”

Bertha, who had resumed her sewing, colored from her throat right up her face but managed a smile back.

He winked, yes, winked, at Theo, as though they were partners in some clandestine enterprise. “And perhaps we shall see one another some day soon.”

Theo beamed back at him as he headed for the door. “I hope so… Cap’n.”

Harriet rose to her feet as well. She had to protest at his leaving in such dire weather, even though an overpowering desire for him to depart had swept over her. His size, his imposing personality, and above all his good looks, had produced a distinct disquiet in her. She chided herself that she was a widow and had vowed after Ben’s death to have nothing further to do with the opposite sex. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait to see if it lessens a little?” Her lack of enthusiasm must have been evident as Theo shot her a puzzled look.

The captain raised an eyebrow at her. He must have heard her lack of conviction. Heat flared again in her cheeks at her own rudeness and lack of gratefulness for his having escorted her through the rain.

“I can assure you, ma’am, that this weather will not release its hold on Cornwall until at least tomorrow morning. There’s no sense in my delaying. I shall make my way home again.” He glanced at the still wet skirt of her gown. “And I suggest you change your gown before you catch a chill. Good day to you. And many thanks for the tea, Bertha.” He glanced at Theo and Lydia. “Perhaps we will meet again soon.”

The door jerked on its hinges as he opened it, pushed inwards by the force of the wind, but before Harriet could go to help, he’d closed it behind him. Instinct had her hurrying to the front window to peer out of the raindrop filled glass as he walked back up the path towards the road. But he didn’t turn left to head for his house. Instead, he turned right and disappeared from sight. How very odd.

Lydia banged her folded arms down on the tabletop and everyone turned to look at her. “That’s the man who was on the ship Theo and I saw down in the cove.”

“Was it?” Theo asked.

“Of course it was, you silly. Didn’t you recognize him?”

Theo shrugged. “I was looking at the ship. Silly yourself.”

Harriet turned back from the window. “The ship that was in the cove unloading… barrels and things like that?”

Lydia nodded. “The one we thought was a smuggler.”

“That was his ship?” Theo’s voice rose in excited admiration. “That’s the ship he’s going to take me out on?”

“A smuggler’s ship,” Lydia said with ominous glee. “You think Mama’s going to let you go out in one of those, with a smuggler?”

Theo’s fists balled in indignation. There was nothing for it. Harriet had to intercede. “Nonsense,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. “He’s a gentleman so he can’t possibly be a smuggler. Either you are mistaken, Lydia, or that was fish he was unloading yesterday. Captain Trevelyan is not a smuggler.”

“That’s what you think,” Lydia muttered, bending her head over her book again.

Harriet pretended she hadn’t heard her.