Invitation To A Cornish Christmas. Marguerite Kaye
Читать онлайн книгу.
wants to buy them.’
‘It’s the same here. I must admit, I’ve never tasted crabmeat.’
‘Oh, you should.’ She cast the shell into the waves. ‘There’s nothing like it.’
‘You have not the accent of a Highland woman,’ he said, as they continued on.
‘That’s because I’m not really a Highland lass. I was born on Lewis, as was my mother, but my father was a Londoner and that’s where we made our home. We visited my grandparents every summer, Mama and I, and when she died—I was only fifteen—I became even closer to them. I lost them both ten years ago.’
‘That must have been difficult for you.’
‘They were elderly—my mother was a late child—and they died as they’d have wished, in their own beds, only a few months apart.’ Her voice wavered. ‘I’ve never been back. Far too many ghosts.’ She paused for a moment, her throat working, then gave a tiny shake of her head, as if to clear it of unpleasant thoughts.
Her words struck a chord. ‘When they served dinner last night, I almost told the housekeeper we’d better wait for Austol. I feel like I’m trespassing. If I could have stayed away—ah, but then I’d never have met you, and that would have been a great pity.’
She glanced at him, coloured faintly, then looked away. ‘I was fortunate to be spared the difficult task you face. My grandparents’ estate was inherited by a rather distant cousin from my grandfather’s side—though in actual fact I think he is now my nearest relative, since my father died. Mama was an only child, you see, as am I. It is the way of things up there, for lands to be passed down the male line. Besides, John-Angus had long acted as my grandfather’s estate manager—as Mr Bligh does for you. And I know nothing about farming.’
‘I pictured you holidaying in a small, whitewashed Highland croft,’ Treeve said. ‘I take it I was mistaken?’
‘There were certainly a number of crofts on the lands. It was—is—a substantial estate. John-Angus will keep them it in good heart. And he has three sons. A good strong line to continue,’ she said wistfully. ‘My grandmother was an only child too. I think—I know, for Grandmama told me—that my grandfather brought John-Angus in as a sort of insurance policy. And he was wise to do so.’
‘I understand that is how things are done, but it seems very arbitrary, to take no account of the possibility of your having a son. Ah, forgive me,’ Treeve said, aghast at his own thoughtlessness, seeing Emily’s stricken face. ‘I meant only that you were so young when they died—not that I mean to imply that you are too old now, but I—’ He broke off, cursing. ‘I’m so very sorry. As I said, I’m a rough sailor, but I should not have spoken out of turn.’
She shook her head, turning away from him, though not before he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. ‘I will never have a son,’ she said flatly.
Was she set on spinsterhood? Or had she been badly hurt? Both questions were intriguing and impossible to ask. ‘I apologise unreservedly,’ Treeve said, ‘for commenting on such a very personal matter, especially since we’ve just met. You don’t know me well—or at all,’ he added, with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I’m not usually so forthright. It’s partly the awkward position I find myself in, I expect—a position I never sought. I know I’m an outsider here in Porth Karrek, an unknown quantity at best. I’m in uncharted waters, and that’s not something that sits well with me, after all these years in the navy, knowing precisely where my duty lay. I’m rambling on now, which is something else I never do. But it’s not only the situation, it’s you. I must confess I am very drawn to you, I feel there is an affinity between us. Have I got it completely wrong? If I have, tell me to go to the devil, I beg you.’
Emily frowned down at the sands, digging her toes in. He waited on tenterhooks for some long, painful moments. Seven waves’ worth of waiting. Finally, she looked up, meeting his eyes, smiling faintly. ‘I don’t intend to tell you to go to the devil.’
‘Thank you.’ He followed her lead, walking on, forcing himself to remain silent for fear of saying anything that would make her reconsider. Who was she, this obviously beloved granddaughter and only grandchild, who had inherited nothing? She did not have the look of a woman who had spent the last ten years living in poverty. Her well-made clothes had the kind of quiet elegance that spoke of excellent cloth, and though they were not in the first style of fashion, nor were they dated. Her figure was slim, but in a lithe way, and her skin had none of the unhealthy pallor which he’d seen in many a new recruit starved in the city of both sunshine and sustenance. Why had she avoided marriage? He could not believe it was for want of any offers. There could be any number of reasons—he’d avoided marriage himself, hadn’t he? Better to not risk asking for fear of upsetting her again.
Their hands brushed as they walked, and each time it happened, Emily felt her fingers tingle, as if they were asking to be clasped, she thought fancifully to herself. Though Treeve’s words had startled her, in a way they’d been a relief, for she’d felt it too, the instant attraction between them. They did not know one another at all, but she felt that they should, as if they were meant to.
It was decidedly not at all like her to be so fanciful. She had been on her own too long, not only here in Cornwall but before. For months before she had finally confronted Andrew, she had been lonely, a self-imposed isolation, unable to confide her doubts and fears to anyone. Not that there had been anyone, for Jessie, who had known her since she was a bairn, and had been Mama’s maid before she was ever Emily’s, had finally been persuaded to retire. As for Beth, she wouldn’t have dreamed of polluting her happiness, even if her oldest and closest friend had been close by, rather than in distant Yorkshire with her beloved curate.
So the fates had been kind to her, to provide her with a confidante. Not that she would ever dream of confiding in him exactly, but to talk—yes. She liked the way he listened to her, not simply waiting until she’d finished so that he could have his say as Andrew was wont to, but really listening. And not just answering but responding. And she liked the way he looked at her, the frankness in his eyes that told her he found her attractive. She knew that the frisson she felt—there, just like that!—as their hands brushed again, was not one-sided.
Treeve had been quiet for some time now, for fear of upsetting her further, no doubt. The next time their hands brushed, Emily met his eyes and smiled. ‘What would have happened to the Karrek estates if your brother had been an only son?’ she asked.
‘My cousin is next in line, by default, I suppose,’ he answered, his relief at her breaking the silence obvious. ‘That’s another thing I must do, make my will. Austol’s will left everything to me in the absence of a son, though I reckon he’d have preferred to hand it over to Jago Bligh. A true Cornishman, and one who, like your John-Angus, knows the lands. His would be a safer pair of hands than mine.’
‘You don’t consider yourself a true Cornishman then,’ she quizzed. ‘Though you are from Porth Karrek, born and bred as they say.’
‘I doubt they do say that. In fact, I’m pretty sure that some would disagree most profoundly with you there. I was born here, that is true enough, but bred—no, the navy made me, not Porth Karrek. My one love,’ he added with a wry smile, ‘and my only mistress.’
‘But your brother, being a true Cornishman, no doubt thought your career choice somewhat disloyal?’
Treeve rolled his eyes. ‘He certainly did, as do the entire population of Porth Karrek and beyond, I’ll wager. In Cornish eyes, there is not an iota of difference between a captain of the Royal Navy and an Exciseman. I’m only one step above being an informer.’
‘I’ve only been here a short while, but it’s long enough to know you’re not exaggerating. You must have been very keen to join up, in the face of such opposition. And indeed, very determined, for one so young, if you’ve been twenty years in the navy.’
‘I