After their agreement was settled upon, the Kendrickses made for St. Just in search of Lieutenant Harris. When Gavin stopped short of the inn, however, Abigail eyed him with a look of confusion.
“What is it?” she asked. “Did you forget something?”
“No, but I thought of somewhere else we needed to be right now.”
She waited for him to continue. “And where is that?”
“I will see to Harris while you”—he motioned to the shop they stood nearby—“go in there.”
Her eyes followed his, settling eventually on the window in front of them. In bold, red paint, she read the words,
Follett’s
Modiste, Milliner
Gloves, Hosiery, Hats, Parasols, Fans
Gavin held out his hand to her, but she refused to accept it. “No, absolutely not.”
“Come along,” he urged. “Surely you knew I would suggest this sooner or later. How long did you think I would allow you to dress in that drab, brown dress?”
“It is not drab,” she protested. Though, as she looked down at it, she could not think of a better word to describe the color and style of the dress she had worn for years. “At any rate, why would I need anything finer? It would hardly be wise to work in a silk gown, now would it?”
“You are the wife of a captain, Mrs. Kendricks,” Gavin said. “You had best get used to the idea that you will soon be invited to balls and parties.”
She looked away. Guilt pricked at her conscience. She still had yet to mention the Stedman’s dinner party invitation—now lying as ash in the bottom of the hearth. But at the thought of attending a public event in which the mother and daughter would be present, she was fine keeping the secret to herself.
Besides, she could not go out. She had the lighthouse to tend to, as usual.
“Abigail? Are you coming?”
She paused. “Gavin, if this is about what I said yesterday, that Uncle did not buy me new dresses…”
“No, not at all. You are merely in desperate need.”
“I would not say desperate,” she mumbled.
He eyed her dubiously. “How often have you mended that dress?”
She had lost count long ago, but she would never let Gavin know such a thing. “Once or twice.”
He laughed. “I can see six or seven separate lines of stitches on just one sleeve.”
Before Abigail could poke fun at his own exaggeration, the door to the shop opened. The bell rang overhead, and Mrs. Follett exited in a flourish of deep purple skirts.
“Good morning, Captain Kendricks, Mrs. Kendricks,” the shop owner said.
Abigail pulled her lips to one side of her mouth. So everyone knew of her marriage to the captain now? She was sure she could put the blame on Mrs. Stedman. She wouldn’t be surprised if the woman had also told the town how rudely Abigail had dismissed her.
“Do forgive me,” Mrs. Follett continued, “but I could not help but notice the both of you out here whilst I updated the window display.” She motioned over her shoulder. “We received new fans only this morning. They are the latest fashion, I assure you. Would you care to see them closer?”
“No, thank you,” Abigail said.
But Gavin placed a hand at the small of her back and gently pushed her forward. She would not have moved had his touch not made her lose all sense.
“You have read our minds, Mrs. Follett,” Gavin said. “My lovely wife was just about to inquire within for a great many items.”
The shopkeeper’s dark eyes widened with glee. “How wonderful! Do come in, my dear. I will be more than happy to look after you.”
“Go on, Mrs. Kendricks,” Gavin said, pushing Abigail forward once more. “I will return soon. Oh, Mrs. Follett, my dear wife will protest anything you suggest, so I really must rely upon you to see that she acquires everything a lady needs, or simply desires.”
Mrs. Follett looked as if she had just been entrusted with the Crown Jewels herself. “Of course, Captain. I will devote my attention to her entirely until we are finished. Now, run along so we may be about our business.”
She laced her arm through Abigail’s and pulled her toward the door. Abigail followed along with a helpless glance in Gavin’s direction, but he merely gave her an encouraging nod before she disappeared into the shop.
Abigail had never been poked and prodded so much in all her life as she was for the next two hours. When she had first come to Cornwall, her uncle had taken her to be fitted for several fine dresses. But as she had grown, their money had faded—or rather, her uncle had wasted it away.
But not even the unpleasant thought of his actions could diminish the strange delight now billowing within her chest. Being fussed over certainly was a change—a change she did not mind in the least.
Of course, she protested each new dress, undergarment, outerwear, and accessory that was thrust toward her. But Mrs. Follett proved even more stubborn than Abigail, who was measured and chose fabric for four new gowns and two new work dresses.
By the end of it, Abigail could not fathom how much all of it had cost. She reminded herself that it was Gavin’s choice. If he wanted to entrust his fortune to a frivolous shop owner, then so be it.
At the thought of her husband, a warmth radiated within her soul. Would she ever grow used to his kindness, his thoughtfulness? He had seen yet another one of her needs and had immediately sought to fix it.
She knew she was silly to become sentimental over simple gowns, but it was so much more than that. She felt respected, as if Gavin believed her to be of some great value and wished her to dress as such.
Having his good opinion meant the world to her.
After being assured that the items, and the bill, would be sent to Golowduyn when ready, Abigail left the shop and breathed in the fresh air outside.
She could almost see herself wearing one of the fine gowns, her hair piled high in curls. A ribbon tied fashionably beneath her bust. Finally matching Gavin with his own tailored clothing.
She knew attending a dinner party or ball was impossible, as they couldn’t leave the lighthouse unattended. But she could not deny—despite her reservations about being out in Society—the appeal of spending an evening out, completely at her leisure on the arm of her handsome, caring husband.
* * *
Gavin moved up the road with a happy sigh. Harris had accepted his offer. With three new people to help at Golowduyn, Gavin was certain he could find more time to spend with his wife at their leisure.
His lips curved as he imagined Abigail dressed in something other than brown. Perhaps in a gown that accentuated her figure, highlighted her auburn hair, and brought out the blue of her eyes.
He worked to calm his racing heart. Yes, he was more than ready to see her as the lady he knew her to be.
With an easy gait, Gavin made for Mrs. Follett’s. But when he rounded the corner of a shop and came face-to-face with Myles Sanders, his feet came to an abrupt halt.
“Myles?” he said in surprise.
The young sailor’s face immediately contorted with anger. He spat at Gavin and turned in the other direction.
“Wait,” Gavin called out, running to block his path. “Myles you must understand—”
“Get out m’ way!” Myles shouted.
He pushed with all his force, but Gavin held his ground. “What happened with you and your brother, I am sorry for how things unfolded. But I did not mean for—”
Myles cursed, attempting to spit at Gavin again. “Ye wanted ‘im dead! Ye planned it all!”
“Your brother chose to assault me. I did not—”
“Ye be the reason he’s dead!”
Myles launched toward him, fury in his jaded eyes, but Gavin pushed him aside with ease. “Calm down, Myles.”
The boy’s chest heaved with anger. He clearly intended on charging again. But when his eyes flickered above Gavin’s shoulder, he backed away and ran in the opposite direction.
Confused, Gavin looked behind him to di
scover Abigail watching with wide eyes. Blast. She must have seen the whole ordeal.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Gavin scanned the crowds, ignoring the looks from others. There was no sign of the boy.
He turned back to Abigail, lowering his voice. “His brother’s execution has finally been carried out. And Myles is…understandably angry.”
Abigail offered him her handkerchief, motioning to the spittle on his jacket lapel. “You ought to leave him be. You may only provoke him further.”
“Yes,” he said, accepting the handkerchief with a nod and cleaning himself off. “Yes, you are right.”
* * *
With the Honeysetts and Lieutenant Harris helping around the lighthouse, Abigail and Gavin pushed forward with the list of improvements to Golowduyn. Abigail found enjoyment working alongside Mrs. Honeysett and Poppy—their quiet, kind nature fitting in with Abigail’s own reserved personality—while Gavin and Lieutenant Harris laughed as they worked, speaking about their days together at sea.
The work was difficult. Each night, Abigail was sorer and more fatigued than the day before. But her soul was no longer weary, and that was a welcome change.
One evening, after the others had left, Abigail and Gavin stood outside, washing the windows after dinner.
A breeze blew the tall grass against her legs and the side of the house. The smell of the ocean—fresh and inviting—sailed under her nose.
She slopped her wet rag against the glass, scrubbing at a stubborn bird dropping before glancing to Gavin. He had paused in his washing, his eyes focused on the sea. She followed his line of sight to where a ship floated slowly on the gleaming water.
“Do you miss it?” she asked. “Being aboard a ship?”
His eyes remained on the vessel. “At times. But I have always been more than content on land, especially when I have a view of the sea.”
He seemed to speak truthfully enough, but still she hesitated. “So you do not regret your decision then, to request retirement?”
She had been wanting to ask the question for some time. He seemed to have made the decision to take his leave from the navy rather suddenly. Could he not have simply made an impulsive mistake?
His warm eyes focused on her. “I do not regret my choice at all. I am exactly where I wish to be.”
Hope lifted her heart, and she returned her attention to the window.
After a moment, Gavin spoke again. “Abigail, I have been thinking…” He dipped his rag into the bucket of water between them. “Do you think, perhaps, I might be ready to look after the light myself this evening?”
Her hand froze against the window. “Oh,” was all she could manage to say. She shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, Gavin had been helping her with the lamps for over a week now. He was more than capable of looking after them himself.
But was she capable of relinquishing her control?
“If you wish me to wait, I will,” he said, using a dry rag to wipe down the glass before him.
Had the man no faults? His patience pained her. She had to allow him to see to the light. He had more than proven himself. And—dare she admit it?—she trusted him.
“No,” she said with a firm nod. “You are more than ready. You may see to them this evening, if you wish to.”
His eyes brightened. “I will be down shortly.”
He dropped the rag into the grass and darted to the top of the landing in a single leap, disappearing within the house.
She paused, staring at the opened door. “Gavin?”
He ran straight back out of the house without a glance in her direction. “Right. The oil.” And he ran around the side of the house to the oil hutch.
She shook her head in amusement.
The humor of the situation was soon lost to her, however, as night fell, and she lay awake in her bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.
After years, her body had simply grown used to waking up at the specific times each night. She knew Gavin’s had quickly adjusted, as well, as she had no longer needed to wake him for each refilling.
But as a precaution, she had given him the clockwork device that her uncle had purchased for her when she had first begun waking up for shifts. It worked much like the rotating mechanism of the lighthouse. She turned a small wheel, and a weight at the end slowly pulled down until it reached the bottom, ringing a bell at the top.
However, the device would prove unnecessary, for as the second refilling lurked, thunder rumbled outside, and lightning flashed through her curtains.
She groaned. Of course a storm would occur that evening. Now Gavin would have to remain awake the entire night. He knew that, did he not? Perhaps she ought to remind him, just as a precaution.
She grasped onto her blankets. No, she would remain in her room the entire night. Gavin knew what was required of him. He would remain awake. He would notify her if a shipwreck occurred.
And she trusted him.
With the words repeating over and over in her mind, she eventually fell into a restless sleep, broken masts and raging fires filling what little dreams she had.
When the first ray of light finally crept across her closed eyelids, she jolted awake.
Relief flooded her mind. Daylight had broken through the clouds, and the lighthouse still stood.
She fell back onto her pillow with a contented sigh. She had done it. No. Gavin had done it. And with such a comforting thought, she drifted back to sleep.
Hours later, she awoke with a groggy yawn, stretching widely as she rolled out of bed. She could not remember the last time she had slept so late.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she dressed, greeted the Honeysetts who worked away in the kitchen, and then made for outside. She winced at the bright sunlight.
“Ah, look who has finally risen to help us this morning.”
She looked toward the stables to see Gavin’s teasing eyes in her direction. He and Lieutenant Harris propped up a long piece of wood against the side of the stable, working to expand the paddock.
“I told Lieutenant Harris that we should not expect you until much later today,” Gavin continued. “As I’m fairly certain you did not receive a moment of sleep last night.”
He cocked a knowing brow, but she looked on in feigned innocence. “I managed to sleep just fine, thank you.”
He gave a disbelieving shake of his head. “Well, as you must be well aware, Golowduyn still stands.”
“Did you agree to pay Lieutenant Harris to stay up late in the watch room while you slept?” she asked.
Lieutenant Harris chuckled, and Abigail sent a teasing smile in Gavin’s direction.
Before he could respond, their attention was drawn to an approaching carriage.
“Who is that?” Gavin asked.
The horses stopped, and he came to stand beside her. They waited as a round man stepped down from the carriage.
“Do you know him?” Gavin asked.
“No, I don’t.”
The gentleman placed his hat on his balding head before approaching them. His white cravat was tied perfectly beneath his chin. “Captain Kendricks, I presume?”
“Yes, sir,” Gavin said. He introduced Lieutenant Harris and Abigail before returning his attention to the stranger. “And you are?”
“I am Mr. Cull. Trinity House has sent me to inspect the property.”
Abigail exchanged glances with Gavin. “But we were told we had a fortnight. It has only been one week.”
“Due to recent…information that has come to light concerning how this lighthouse was once run, my superiors have insisted that I arrive today to complete the inspection.”
Abigail flushed. She and Gavin had written to Trinity House days before of her uncle’s deceit and theft of their money. Gavin had also offered to pay the difference. Mr. Cull was clearly there because of the correspondence.
Before, Golowduyn had shared impeccable trust with the institution. Now, there was only a wary relationship. Yet another thi
ng her uncle had damaged.
“As you can see, we were unable to finish everything, Mr. Cull,” Gavin said.
Abigail cast her eyes around her. The grounds were in far better shape than they had been days ago. The grass had been trimmed—no doubt by Gavin that very morning—and fresh flowers were planted near the front of the house. With the fence around the garden mended, the chicken hutch no longer propped up against the cliffside, and the stable doors finally fixed and working beautifully, the lighthouse was beginning to show great improvement.
But they were still far from completion.
“I understand, Captain,” Mr. Cull said. “However, I must make my full inspection now of Glow…Gol…Glowdon Lighthouse.”
“Golowduyn,” Abigail and Gavin corrected at the same time.
They eyes met, and her heart felt lighter, despite Mr. Cull’s presence. Gavin was there for her and the lighthouse. She was not alone any longer.
However, as Mr. Cull began his inspection, her nerves returned. She tapped her fingers against her folded arms as the man walked around the oil hutch, making a mark on his paper.
“Abigail?” Gavin spoke with arched brows as he continued his work on the paddock. “Perhaps you ought to find something else to do to occupy your mind.”
She looked back to Mr. Cull as he stared at the length of the lighthouse and made more markings.
“What is he writing, do you think?” she asked, ignoring Gavin’s suggestion. “Surely he did not expect the lighthouse to be flawless.”
“He will see the honest effort we have made. Try not to worry too much about it.”
She began to pace across the grass. Should she go inside, tidy up a bit before he had the chance to go in himself?
A sudden thought struck her, and her heart felt as if it dropped into her stomach. “Gavin, I did not see to the lamp room this morning. Oh, it must be in such a state. How could I have forgotten?”
She made for the house, but Gavin stopped her, grasping her hand and pulling her back. “I saw to the light. Remember? I assure you, I left the room very orderly.”
Behind The Light 0f Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1) Page 15