‘Oh, no, you are far too lovely to be a mermaid. They are ugly creatures, more fish than female, with seaweed for hair and scales all over their bodies.’
Lovely? He meant in comparison to a fish, Emily told herself sternly! ‘Are you telling me you’ve seen one? Had you been at the ship’s rum ration?’
‘No, and no—I never drink on board, but I’ve heard enough tales from my men to believe there’s something in it—as there is with all superstitions, I reckon. There’s a place on the other side of Penzance known as Mermaid’s Rock, where they are said to comb their hair, and sing a siren song to lure sailors to their doom.’
‘In Lewis, it is not mermaids but selkies the sailors fear will lure them on to the rocks. Selkies are seals who can take the shape of a beautiful woman on land, and who are said to have certain appetites, according to my grandmother,’ Emily said. ‘I remember wondering what on earth she was talking about. I thought perhaps they liked porridge.’
Captain Penhaligon gave a bellow of laughter. ‘She was not, then, quite lacking in superstition?’
‘Oh, selkies are no myth. Ask any Lewisman or woman.’
‘A seal who can take the shape of a beautiful woman,’ Captain Penhaligon mused. ‘I wonder if that’s what your pupils saw, a selkie looking to beguile a sailor?’
Emily chuckled. ‘You will never know, their victims never do know, until it’s too late.’
‘I’m a sailor. Are you warning me off, Miss Faulkner? You don’t look the siren type.’
‘Ah, but that’s why I’m so dangerous.’
‘You are certainly intriguing. I am very glad that I decided to take a walk this morning. Not that we’ve done much walking yet. Or even paddling.’
Emily looked at the incoming tide in surprise. ‘We must have been standing here for at least half an hour.’
‘A very pleasant half-hour, as far as I am concerned, though perhaps I’ve intruded on your privacy too long?’
‘When I saw you standing here this morning, I’ll admit I was irked,’ Emily confessed. ‘I consider Karrek Sands my own personal beach, I’ll have you know. But now—I am enjoying our conversation, Captain Penhaligon.’
‘Will you call me Treeve?’
‘If you will call me Emily.’ There was a warmth in his smile that she could not resist. It seemed to her that fate had brought him to the beach, the perfect antidote to her loneliness for he was, in some ways, as much a stranger here as she. A very appealing stranger, who for whatever reason, seemed to find her appealing too. And whether that made her shallow or not she didn’t care! It was a salve to her ravaged sense of self-worth. What harm could there be in enjoying the moment!
A wavelet, bolder than the rest, washed over Treeve’s brogues, and she burst out laughing. ‘If we are actually going to do any walking today, you’ll need to take those shoes off or they’ll get ruined.’
‘And here was me thinking that you were going to teach me to walk on water too.’ Treeve knelt down, divesting himself quickly of his brogues and stockings. ‘There, now we can both enjoy the bite of the sea on our toes. Shall we?’
Chapter Two
The wind blew Miss Emily Faulkner’s cloak and skirts around her legs, revealing tantalising glimpses of her slim ankles, her shapely calves. Her face was tanned. From the long hours she had spent in the Cornish sunshine this summer past, Treeve presumed, swimming here in the cove. He’d give a good deal to have watched her. Miss Emily Faulkner was one of the most attractive women he had ever met. Though it had never happened to him before, it would be no exaggeration to say that he was, in fact, well and truly smitten.
She was not in the first bloom of youth—thirty or so, would be his guess—for though she looked no more than five or six and twenty, her expression had none of the openness of a younger woman, and all the guardedness of one having lived long enough to have secrets to protect. Her hair was the colour of wet sand, dark blonde streaked with gold, and her eyes were the colour of a stormy ocean, grey-blue fringed with long dark lashes. Perhaps she was a sea nymph after all! Her nose was too strong to belong to an accredited beauty, her mouth too generous. Intelligence blazed in her eyes, something that many a man would find intimidating. He thought it merely added to her charm.
‘What brings a Highland lass all the way to Cornwall?’ he asked.
‘I am renting that cottage up there, the one on the furthest point of the headland, which I suppose makes you my landlord.’
‘Forgive me, I’m a rough sailor accustomed to speaking my mind, but frankly you neither look nor sound like a woman obliged to fend for herself.’
‘Necessity, as they say, is the mother of invention. I do very well for myself, thank you. And while I know next to nothing about the Royal Navy, I am pretty sure they expect their officers to be gentlemen, not rough sailors.’
‘Oh, I can play the gentleman if required, and the rough sailor too, if the situation demands it. Tell me, is the cottage in good order? If there is anything that can be done to improve it?’
She cast him a levelling look. ‘It suits me very well, and if there was anything needing done, I am sure Mr Bligh, your estate manager, would attend to it.’
‘I was merely thinking of your comfort.’
‘Thank you, but it’s more about how it would look. I’ve already stolen a march on all of Porth Karrek in meeting you this morning. Imagine the reaction if one of your first acts of generosity was towards an outsider like me.’
‘You’re right, it was naïve of me.’
Emily shook her head, smiling faintly. ‘A lovely gesture nonetheless.’
The wind ruffled her hair, dragging thick tendrils free of her ribbon and whipping it around her face. He had been apprehensive about returning to his birthplace, even temporarily, but the prospect of spending the next few weeks in Cornwall suddenly seemed a lot more appealing. A lot more, Treeve thought, as she stooped to pick up an empty crab shell, and the wind tugged at her skirts, outlining her very shapely bottom.
‘We used to boil these up in buckets of salt water on the beach,’ Emily said, happily oblivious. ‘The claw meat in particular is so sweet. The fishermen throw them back into the water in Lewis though, no one 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 was sixteen, and the second son, so my father was largely indifferent to what I did. And before you pity me, let me reassure you that I consider myself fortunate, since it meant no obstacles were put in my way. In fact, if I’d not joined the navy of my own accord, it’s likely that my father would have tried to push me towards the church, and in doing so deprived the parish of an excellent man in the form of Reverend Maddern.’
Emily raised her brows sceptically. ‘I can’t imagine that you would allow yourself to be pushed into anything by anyone.’
‘It’s been attempted, but none so far have succeeded.’
‘Though now,’ she ventured, ‘you must be torn?’
‘What do people here want to happen?’
‘You’ve not been away so long as to imagine that anyone in Porth Karrek would share their thoughts with an incomer, surely?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
They had come to the end of the beach, where the cliffs of the next headland protruded out to sea, preventing them from continuing. The wavelets washed over their toes, drenching the hems of her cloak and skirt. Emily frowned. ‘There has been a good deal of speculation about you, I know that much.’
‘I couldn’t have come here any earlier—until last week I was at sea. I didn’t even hear of Austol’s death until a month after he was drowned. People will be wanting to know where they stand, and that’s natural enough.’ Treeve picked up a flat stone and skimmed it expertly into the surf. ‘As far as I’m concerned, provided I can satisfy myself that Jago Bligh has been doing his job, they stand exactly where they do now. My leave of absence expires at the end of the year. I have no plans to extend it, and certainly no intention of making it permanent. Don’t people get on with Bligh? Is that what
you’re hinting at?’
‘I’m not hinting at anything. Mr Bligh, though not exactly loved by all, is certainly held in respect—and in some awe, since he wields quite a lot of power. But that’s only an impression. You must make up your own mind.’
‘Oh, I intend to, but it’s always useful to have an independent view from someone with no vested interest.’
‘Well, I can certainly provide that.’
Treeve sighed, digging his toes into the sand, in precisely the same way as she did. ‘It’s a damned mess, all the same. Karrek House shouldn’t be left to lie empty. My brother’s widow has moved back to Penzance to stay with her parents. I called on her yesterday, on my way here. It is a great shame that their union wasn’t blessed with a son. She’s a Hammett of Penzance, whose father would have been happy to look after the estate on behalf of his grandson.’
‘And now it will fall to you, to marry and provide an heir.’ Emily spoke lightly, but avoided his eyes all the same, for fear that he’d see the pain her words induced. All men wanted a son, didn’t they!
But Treeve looked quite aghast. ‘That is something I have not considered, nor intend to. I am at sea more often than I’m ashore. I would make a very poor husband and father.’
‘Loyalty, a strong sense of duty, honour, and respect for those you command—the attributes which make you an excellent naval captain would surely also serve you very well as a husband.’
‘Are you funning?’
‘Only a little.’
‘You don’t think that love is the starting point? Surely if one loves, then the rest follow—save that I don’t think a husband should command a wife.’
‘That is very enlightened of you.’
‘I know little of such matters, to be honest.’
‘Ah, yes, the sea is your mistress, as you said.’
‘Well, not precisely my only mistress, but the one I have always returned to.’ Treeve cursed under his breath. ‘That makes me sound like the archetypal sailor with a woman in every port. It’s not what I meant at all.’
Invitation to a Cornish Christmas Page 2