He smiled and covered her free hand with his own warm one. “You already have.” He inched closer to her.
At his closeness, talk of death and trusts and betrayal and orchards fled her mind. It was just the two of them in the cool morning shadows, basking in the warmth and glow of words both said and unsaid. His presence made her feel a strength that had been missing for some time. It made a broken part of her soul feel whole again.
She wanted him to say more, and yet she didn’t. How she wanted this feeling of security and happiness and hopefulness to endure. She wanted to hear her name on his lips. His thumb rubbed the top of her hand, and in this moment she knew that, for better or for worse, their relationship would never be the same.
Chapter 43
Later that morning, Delia was both pleased and anxious when the Twethewey men joined the Abbott family for breakfast.
The rain continued to fall steadily, now as if to mock them, and dark storm clouds blotted the sun. The occasional strike of lightning flashed brightness into the gray room, and at distant intervals thunder rolled, deep and unsettling.
Despite the rain, the conversation was cheery inside the Abbott breakfast room. A generous basket of bread and fruit sat atop the table. Poached eggs and ham were on a platter. The Abbott children were curious about their guests, and Liam was eager to share the story of his journey. Mary was a polite and gracious hostess, but her brother’s sternness was less than inviting.
Horace said very little during the meal and glowered at Mr. Twethewey as if the man had done something—or was about to do something—wrong. Mr. Twethewey didn’t seem to notice. In fact, she would glance his way to find his gaze on her, warm and kind, and a thrill surged through her.
Horace drew a deep breath, the suddenness of which attracted the attention of the table. He leaned heavily on the table with his elbows and stared at Mr. Twethewey. “What are your plans from here?”
His harsh words sliced the merry tone of the breakfast, and Delia lowered her napkin.
Unfazed, Mr. Twethewey shifted in his chair. “I’d like to return to Penwythe as soon as possible. There was some storm damage and it needs to be addressed.”
“Storm damage?” Delia frowned. “What happened?”
“A hailstorm just before I left. I’m still not sure how much damage was done.”
Delia’s stomach sank. She’d heard the workers talking about the devastating effect such a summer storm could have on the tender fruit. The beautiful apple orchards. “I had no idea.”
Mr. Twethewey glanced toward the window. “We’ll wait until the rain clears, and we’ll need to hire a carriage. I’ve no wish to repeat that rocky ride on horseback. Do you, Liam?”
A strange sense of panic raced through her at the thought of them leaving.
Mr. Twethewey continued. “I’ve no wish to trespass on your hospitality further, Mr. Abbott. Is there a nearby inn where Liam and I can stay until arrangements can be made?”
“There’s the Widow’s Crest, just a town over, and then there is the Hawk’s Eye Inn, but I’d not recommend it.”
She jerked at the mention of the Hawk’s Eye, shocked he would speak of it knowing its history as he did.
Unperturbed, Mr. Twethewey lowered his napkin to the table. “I’m sure the Widow’s Crest will be suitable.”
At the suggestion that the Twetheweys would be departing, Horace’s demeanor brightened. “You could probably hire a carriage from there as well and be back at Penwythe within the day.”
She figured that most men would bristle at her brother’s tone, but a comfortable grin crossed Mr. Twethewey’s lips. He looked at her. “Mrs. Greythorne, I am not sure what your plans are, but you’re welcome to return with us. The children would be happy to see you, and I’d hate the thought of you making the return journey alone.”
The weight of her brother’s stare slammed into her. Heavy. Expectant. She’d never given him an answer as to whether she would stay or return to Penwythe. She drew a deep breath. “Thank you, Mr. Twethewey. I—I shall let you know.”
Horace stood, scraping his chair loudly against the floor and disturbing his silverware. She jerked at his sudden movement. Color flushed his round face, and he pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “Mr. Twethewey. I’d be happy to escort you personally to the Widow’s Crest, but first, may I have a word? Privately.”
* * *
Jac’s steps slowed as he followed the vicar to a small study off of the drawing room and stepped inside. Like the rest of the house, the room was plain. The only items of significance were a large bookshelf on the far wall, a single window overlooking the garden, a large oak desk anchored in the middle of the room with two smaller chairs opposite it, and three silhouettes hanging in plain wooden frames.
Abbott nodded to the chair. “Be seated. I want to talk with you.”
Jac did as he was bid. The chair groaned painfully loudly in the silent room. How on earth could a house with three children be so quiet? He looked toward his unwitting host. “Yes?”
Abbott leaned back in his chair and stared at a point on the ceiling for several seconds before he refocused on Jac. The vicar’s somber expression made Jac feel almost like a child about to be scolded.
“Mr. Twethewey, my sister is a grown woman. She’s a widow. A mother. She’s seen more life than most women her age, and I know she’s quite independent. Be that as it may, she is still my sister, my unmarried sister, and she has found her way back to my home. I am sure it comes as no surprise to you that I do not approve of my sister’s presence at Penwythe Hall.”
Jac narrowed his eyes. Abbott’s words were strikingly similar to what he’d said at Penwythe Hall. Jac adjusted his position and prepared for a similar conversation. “You object to her being a governess?”
“We’ve been through this.” He huffed in obvious annoyance, leaning forward on his elbows on the desk. “I’m not sure why your boy is traveling across Cornwall alone, nor do I wonder why you are thundering after him. But this is all quite unusual, and it does not bode well with me. I daresay it wouldn’t with most people. You’ve managed to cast some sort of spell over my sister, and I don’t think it proper.”
Jac shook his head. “I am not sure what you are referring to, but I—”
Abbott lifted his hand for silence. “Out of respect for the kindness you have shown my sister up until now, I feel it right to inform you that Cordelia will not be returning to Penwythe.”
The words sliced through Jac, yet he did not so much as flinch. “That’s for her to decide, is it not?”
“She has a home here now. I’ve already told her that her place is here.”
“And if she does not comply?”
The men locked eyes. Jac had no wish to go up against a man of the cloth, but he also would not be pushed around or stand idly by while the man coerced Mrs. Greythorne.
Abbott stood from the desk. “Circumstances have changed here, sadly, but they’ve changed nonetheless. Cordelia has endured scandal before, and no doubt once word gets out about your midnight visit here—and it will get out, for news such as this always does—she will once again be the object of town gossip. Yes, word travels fast, even here in sleepy Whitecross, and I’ll not have it. I’ve watched the way you look at her, Twethewey. The way you speak with her. I know about men in your position, and I’ll not allow her to be taken advantage of.”
Jac winced, slightly taken aback. “I’m not taking advantage of her.”
Abbott rounded the table. “Do you mean to tell me that you have feelings for my sister? That the flirting and long glances are sincere? I doubt it, Twethewey, for what can she give you? She has no money, no social standing.”
Jac stood to match Abbott’s stance. “I appreciate your concern, I do, but your sister’s virtue is quite safe. And as for whether or not she returns to Penwythe, again, that is for her to decide.”
“Perhaps I have not made myself clear.” Abbott stepped forward. “No good can come from her presence there
, and I will not see her heart broken—not again. You will leave my sister alone, and that is final.”
Chapter 44
Delia watched Mr. Twethewey adjust Liam’s stirrups and then stood back as the boy mounted the large black horse.
The rain had dwindled, and now just a humid drizzle fell. The clouds were thinning. No longer were they thick and impenetrable. Intermittent sunlight would find its way through the shallow places.
When Mr. Twethewey turned back around, the warmth that had radiated from him at breakfast was gone. Something had happened while he was speaking in private to Horace. The lack of expression on his face reminded her of her first days at Penwythe when he was indifferent. Distant.
And it tore at her.
He stepped toward his hosts and extended his hand toward Horace. “Thank you again for your hospitality. I’ll not forget it.”
Mr. Abbott shook Jac’s hand but said nothing.
For a moment she felt a bit of panic thinking they would leave without addressing her, but then he pivoted to face her. His expression did not change. “Mrs. Greythorne, I’m going to hire a carriage and will send word regarding our plans. I anticipate, if the weather continues to brighten, that we will depart for Penwythe in the morning. My offer still stands if you should choose to return to Penwythe Hall with us. The children are eager for their schedules to return to normal. You’ll hear from us soon.”
She nodded, stepped toward Liam, and patted his horse’s neck. She looked up at the boy and smiled. With circles beneath his eyes, he seemed as tired as she felt. The past day had been taxing on everyone, and even his energy and youth could not spare him from the sensation. “Be safe, Liam. Listen to your uncle.”
Liam lowered his voice. “Are you coming with us?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked back. Mr. Twethewey’s cool expression had not softened. “I’m not sure quite yet, but do not fret over it. Everything will be normal again soon.”
Liam leaned down over the saddle. “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble. I didn’t mean to do so.”
She patted his hand and offered a smile. Oh, how her heart went out to this sweet child. “Don’t give it another thought. I am honored you think me worthy of such a journey.”
Mr. Twethewey mounted his horse. With a click of his tongue, the horses were set in motion toward the main road that would lead to the next village.
With the guests gone, Mary turned to enter the house. Delia moved to follow suit, but Horace caught her arm. “Be careful.”
She jerked to a stop and turned to face him.
“I see the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him. Be careful, Cordelia.”
She sighed but did not respond.
He dropped his hand. “You’ve had your fair share of tragedies in life. More than most, I reckon. You are not naive and you’ve always been reasonable. But even reasonable people can be taken advantage of.”
“I’m not being taken advantage of here.” Her attempt at a careless laugh sounded forced, even to her own ears.
“Men like Twethewey, wealthy men, prey on women in your situation. And before you disagree with me, listen. You can’t have a future with a man like that. It would never be. They do not marry governesses. I know you care a great deal for those children, but I care a great deal for you. They’re not your family, and they never will be. Your family is here. I want you to live here, with us. Renew your life where you can make real friendships and have a real chance for a future. It hurts me to think of you caring for someone else’s family when you could possibly start one of your own.”
Delia could not believe what she was hearing. “Do you really think me so incapable of managing my life? Of knowing my own feelings?”
“You’ve been hurt in the past, and I don’t want to see you hurt again.”
She stiffened as her anger intensified. If he really didn’t want to hurt her, he would’ve shared what he knew about the Greythornes before she married into the family all those years ago.
Be that as it may, she did know one thing: this was not where her heart was.
She swallowed. “Horace, that is very generous and thoughtful of you. As much as I love you and your family, I cannot stay.”
Shock slackened his jaw. “May I ask why not?”
The children flashed in her mind. Sophy. Hannah. Johnny. Julia. Liam. They all held a piece of her heart. And now Mr. Twethewey owned a piece of it too. They were worth the gamble. For what else did she have to lose?
“My life at Penwythe Hall may not seem like much to you, but it is still my life. I have built relationships and have a purpose. I have my own goals and my own dreams, and now they start and end there.”
He gave his head a sharp shake. “Help me understand, because I cannot. Why would a woman choose to be away from her family?”
“I did not choose to leave my family after Robert died. I was sent away—you remember how it was. There is a very great difference between the two. Over the years I have adjusted and accepted it.” She paused, attempting to read his face. “I do realize that I have choices now.”
“Yes, you have the choice to come stay here.”
“Please, Horace. I must make my own decision about this.”
He tensed with irritation. “You’ll do what you want. You always have. But there will come a time, Delia, when you’ll need your family. Maybe not this year or the next, but I think life has taught you that everything is very uncertain. And when you realize that, you will be back here, mark my words.”
She straightened her shoulders and leveled her gaze. “You are my brother, and I love you dearly, but there is much about me you just don’t know. And you are making assumptions about Mr. Twethewey based on other men like him. Do you not trust my judge of character enough to know the difference?”
She didn’t want to argue with Horace. They’d spent years apart, and their time together should be precious. Maybe that was why it was so hard for her to hear his opinions—or maybe his opinions were just coming too late.
* * *
The Widow’s Crest was about what Jac expected. Decrepit and run-down, it offered only two rooms, and one was already let. Jac settled the payment with the innkeeper, and once inside the narrow bedchamber, Jac dropped his satchel on the bed. Liam’s footsteps fell heavy behind him.
Jac stepped to the window and lifted the thin linen curtain to stare down to the soggy courtyard below. Two ponies stood at a swollen water trough, and a broken wagon leaned against a fence separating the property from the road.
He’d not been alone very much with Liam since he’d arrived in Whitecross. At first he’d been so grateful that Liam was all right that he hadn’t asked too many questions about why he’d left. But now, as emotions had settled, questions bubbled in Jac’s mind.
He turned back to Liam, who had also dropped his satchel onto the bed, and his downcast eyes and silence served as a clear indicator of his discomfort with what had happened.
Jac scratched the back of his head, contemplating what to do. They needed to discuss what happened, and why. It would be easier to deal with this situation if he did not see so much of himself in the boy. Liam had acted on impulse. Time and time again, Jac had too. That was probably why part of him understood Liam’s action—the need for an immediate solution and the desire to set things right as soon as possible, whatever the cost.
With a heavy sigh Jac dropped to the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. “Well, Liam, let’s have it.”
Liam blinked up, his brow furrowed.
When he did not respond, Jac prodded further. “Why did you run off like that?”
His answer was immediate. Rehearsed. “Julia said she thought you were going to send us to live with Aunt Beatrice.”
“And you did not think that you could talk to me directly?”
Liam shrugged but said nothing.
Jac let seconds tick by, buying time to formulate his next words.
Clearly Liam—and the rest
of the children—regarded their governess as more of a protector and authoritative figure than him. And that was all right. Even though they’d been with him all summer, it was still a fairly new arrangement. But if he were honest, the lack of trust twisted uncomfortably within him.
Jac squared his shoulders and stooped to meet the boy at eye level. “I’m going to make a promise to you, Liam. And I want you to listen to me well.” He waited until the boy made eye contact with him before continuing. “You and your brother and sisters are my family. And I’ll fight for you. I’ll protect you. I’ll always be on your side. But this is not a one-sided relationship. You have a part to play in this too.”
His face pale, Liam looked sad. “What’s my part?”
“You must trust me. You have to believe that I have your best interest at heart. You have to be brave enough to come to me when you don’t like something. We’re still getting to know each other, and in the meantime, you have to make the conscious decision to uphold your end of the bargain.”
Liam swiped the back of his hand over his nose and sniffed. Jac thought he wasn’t going to respond, but then he murmured, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“No,” Liam said. “I mean, yes, I’m sorry for what I did yesterday, but I’m sorry for the other things too. I’m sorry for saying I hate you and for saying you stole my father’s money. I know it’s not true.”
Jac’s throat tightened. He was not one given to emotion, but in this narrow moment of time, the past, present, and future collided. Emotions shifted and grated against each other. Anger toward his brother. Sadness for his death. And now, hope for a new relationship with his children.
Jac placed his arm around the boy’s shoulder and gave a good-natured squeeze. “This is behind us now, isn’t it? We’ll not speak of it again. You’re a lucky young man that no harm came to you or your horse.”
The boy sniffed again.
“I’ll tell you what. You stay here. I’ll make sure the horses are bedding down all right, then see what I can do about hiring a carriage. Mrs. Greythorne might be traveling with us, and if she does, I don’t think she’s cut out for a horseback ride that long, do you? Then we can get some supper and turn in early.”
The Governess of Penwythe Hall Page 26