And you can have me, she almost added. But that was for him to figure out.
‘You meddled! Falmage never would have made that offer on his own.’
‘Sometimes people need a push to see the vision right in front of them.’ She would not apologise for giving Falmage that push, or for giving Cade that push.
‘But I told you not to, does that mean nothing?’ Cade’s anger was morphing into despair. ‘You did this without asking me.’
‘I did ask you, if you recall, the night of the bonfire. But you gave me no answer. You said you couldn’t answer because there was nothing real to consider, only mythical hypotheticals. Well, now, I’ve given you a real scenario. You have something tangible to weigh against going back to London,’ she challenged, hands on her hips, anger coursing through her. ‘Stay here, run Falmage’s Academy, have a permanent post for life, compose what moves you, pass your love of music on to young children who, like you, might be desperate for such an opportunity. Change lives here, Cade, or go back to London and take your chances.’
Stay here, let yourself love me as I love you.
‘You should have discussed this with me,’ he ground out. ‘I will not be seen as a weak-minded man who is led about by his wife.’
She couldn’t listen to this nonsense any more. All he had to say was ‘yes’ and he’d managed to bungle that. ‘I have laid your dream at your feet and you can’t handle it. Instead you will be stubborn, like your father, and doom us to unhappiness and regrets just like he did to your family. You say you hate him, but you are just like him.’ The words tumbled out, hot and angry.
Cade blanched as if he’d been slapped. ‘If that’s what you think, you never knew me at all, never loved me at all, despite what you may think.’
She had never been this mad in her life. She fairly trembled with anger as she spoke. ‘What I think, Cade, is that you need to stop running and learn to live with yourself, your past and your present, so that you can have a future. You say you won’t marry until you can support a family. But that’s just window dressing for the real reason. You are afraid to love.’ He made her pay for those words. His eyes went cold, his beautiful, expressive face became stoic. Whatever he was thinking, feeling, was shuttered to her. She was locked out entirely.
He straightened his jacket. ‘I feel it’s best we end our association now. I will write to Falmage and decline his offer. If you’ll excuse me, I have some details to take care of for tomorrow’s concert.’ He stepped off the porch and walked down the lantern-lit driveway of Karrek House, disappearing into the night as if he’d never been, a ghost of her imagination.
She’d lost him. The realisation was staggering. If her words had slapped him, then his had positively been a blow to her stomach. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She reeled, gripping the porch post to stay upright. Should she run after him? Should she go to the gatehouse and make him explain himself? Should she let him go? She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know how to fix this.
* * *
She didn’t know how long she was out there, only that Ayleth was beside her and she was shaking. Ayleth’s arms were around her, her sister’s soft voice urging her to come in. ‘You’re cold, Rosie, come inside. Tell me what has happened? Where is Mr Kitto?’
She was cold. Inside and out. She might never be warm again. She collapsed into her sister’s arms, sobbing, ‘Cade is gone. I’ve lost him and it’s all my fault.’ This was how it felt when the world fell apart. She knew, she’d felt this way once before, but that seemed like nothing now compared to the emptiness that swamped her. She just had to get through tomorrow and Cade Kitto would be gone for good and then she could start putting her world back together. Would she never learn? Would she always love the wrong man?
* * *
He’d been wrong. He could see that now when it was too late and it had cost him the woman he loved, or rather the woman he’d been afraid to love until she was gone, beyond his reach. She’d been right about that. He was afraid to love, afraid of what loving meant, of how it would change him, of what he’d become if he stayed for her. In the end, he’d chosen fear over love when Falmage had made his offer. He had chosen unwisely. He wanted to tell Rose that.
Cade watched from the side as people filed into the church. The church bristled with a special energy tonight, greenery swagged the centre aisle, extra garlands were tied at each pew courtesy of the Trelevens. Expensive, white-wax candles burned at the front of the church, courtesy of Cloyd Bolitho and his son, the groundskeeper. This service was a joint effort. Everywhere Cade looked there were signs of community donations which had turned the plain little church of St Piran’s into a beautiful place for one night. Captain Penhaligon entered with Emily Faulkner, his fiancée of one day, on his arm. They had found the courage to choose love. He envied them. But there was no sign of the person he wanted to see most. Rose.
Reverend Maddern entered, his white half-robe over his darker robe, his purple stole with its gold trim about his neck. He mounted the pulpit and intoned the words that lit the candles: hope, love, joy, peace. All gifts that Rosenwyn had given him, Cade realised. He’d treated her gifts with contempt and not for the first time. He wanted to tell her she was right about so much. He had been too prideful to understand the magnitude of Falmage’s offer. He’d been too stubborn to let go of the past and, in doing so, he had become more like his father than he’d ever been. He saw that now. He regretted that now. He could do better and be better. For her. For himself. Cade scanned the congregation for Rosenwyn, looking for her among her sisters. Would she come? Would she play? He couldn’t blame her if she didn’t. She’d asked so little of him and given him so much in return.
The Reverend’s message was short. He gestured to Cade and Cade motioned for everyone to take their places. In the quiet scuttle of the orchestra and choir assembling, he did not see her come in, but when he looked once more at the piano, she was there at the bench, stealing his breath in her green gown, a matching ribbon threaded through her hair. He raised his baton and smiled at her, hoping that one smile would communicate everything his heart felt in that moment; his gratitude that she had come tonight for him, that he loved her. But she did not smile back.
Cade motioned to the orchestra and the sweet notes of a tin whistle, a most uniquely Cornish instrument, filled the church with a plaintive tune. Her stamp was everywhere, her words in his mind as he directed.
‘Your cantata needs to sound like Cornwall... You’ve forgotten what Cornwall sounds like...’
He’d listened. To her. She’d helped him remember. He turned to bring in the piano. Tonight, he would help her remember what she loved about performing. It would be a last gift to her, an apology. But when she began to play, she stole his heart all over again and then she broke it. She lifted her eyes to his, her gaze filled with emotion. She was saying goodbye. She was letting him go.
Chapter Sixteen
Rosenwyn poured herself into the music. Nothing mattered but these moments. Had this church ever heard such beautiful music? Heard such a beautiful message in the lyrics of the arias? Cade had wrought a masterpiece that blended the old traditions of the cantata form with the traditions of his home. Tonight she was part of that. She owed Cade that much at least. He’d given her a chance to perform again. Tonight was a gift given without strings because those strings had already been broken. She’d broken them by tying them too tight.
* * *
When the cantata concluded, she was not the only one in tears when the performance ended. The congregation came to their feet, led by Eaton who was the first one to rush to Cade’s side in congratulations. ‘Not even Handel’s Messiah is quite as fine as that.’
‘I simply must have him,’ Eaton vowed when he came to congratulate her at the piano. ‘He’s splendid, a credit to our part of the country.’ But she’d ruined that, too. Cade would never believe Eaton’s offer now. Perhaps she should
n’t have pushed. How ironic if it all would have come together on its own if she’d only waited, if she’d only let Cade’s music speak for itself. Her stomach lurched, sickened by the thought. The congregation rose, receiving Reverend Maddern’s benediction, everyone eager to file out, to wish the Reverend a Happy Christmas and to greet Cade. How would she manage it? How would she face him?
She had plenty of time to think about it. The Trelevens were the last to leave, her sisters surrounded by well-wishers congratulating them on the performance. At this rate, they’d miss the bell ringing at midnight. By the time her family filed out, she’d got her wish. She didn’t have to face him. Cade had disappeared from the Reverend’s side. There was no relief in the reprieve, though, only disappointment. Reverend Maddern stopped her with a gentle hand as she brought up the end of the line. ‘He’s in the graveyard. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or why, but you should go to him.’
She shook her head. The older man meant well, but what did he know of affairs of the heart? He would likely be scandalised to know she’d slept with his protégé in the broad light of day in a Penzance inn, or that she’d given him certain pleasures on the beach, or that his darling protégé took these affaires as his due. ‘What is wrong cannot be mended, sir.’ Besides, if he was in the graveyard, he’d want to be alone with his family.
He gave her a stern look of disagreement. ‘Even on Christmas? The one night of the year when all things are possible?’
Perhaps it was the Reverend’s words or perhaps it was the sight of Cade’s straight back, his gold head bowed as he stood before a tombstone in the graveyard that compelled her to try, against her better judgement—it wouldn’t be the first time she’d ignored it. Rosenwyn slipped into the graveyard, shutting the wrought-iron gate behind her silently. She could tell from his posture he was deep in thought. Of course. Tonight was the night. He must have been thinking of his mother all day and tonight as he’d directed. For a moment, she second-guessed herself and nearly turned around. People should not be bothered in cemeteries, but apparently the Reverend felt this would be an exception to the rule.
‘Cade.’ She came up behind him, her hand at his back. She’d not planned to touch him. ‘That was beautiful, the cantata was absolutely perfect. The tin whistle was inspired.’ She was babbling, suddenly just another idiot talking to someone famous. ‘Your mother would have been proud.’ It would be best to step away, to leave him to his grief. She took a step backwards.
‘Stay, Rose.’
She stopped, stood where she was and waited. For the first time, she didn’t have a plan, didn’t know what to expect. Cade turned towards her. ‘I’m glad you liked it. It was for you. The tin whistle, the triangle, the drums. You were the one who suggested I give the cantata a Cornish sound. It was a good idea.’
‘Thank you. I am honoured.’ She hated how awkward everything suddenly was. There was so much unsettled between them. She couldn’t pretend there wasn’t.
‘I should be thanking you. Without you on the piano it would not have been extraordinary. Tonight, you elevated my music. You didn’t have to. Why did you come? I was an ass.’
‘Love never fails, Cade. I knew what the night meant to you, I knew what you’d poured into the composition. No matter what is between us, I love you. I can’t help it. I couldn’t let you down. I’d already done that once.’ She couldn’t let him go without at least apologising. ‘I’m sorry about Falmage. I should have discussed it with you and I should have respected your wishes. You don’t want to stay and I forced the issue when you were only trying to be polite. I saw things that weren’t there, things between us. You warned me and I didn’t listen.’
He stepped towards her, pressing a finger to her lips. ‘Shh, Rose, it’s I who should be apologising. Christmas has already cost me one woman I love, it will not cost me another.’
‘I should not have said what I did about your father.’ She could not let him shoulder the blame.
‘Yes, you should have. You were right. I don’t want to make my father’s mistakes. I was being stubborn. You were right. My pride was a smokescreen for my very real fear. I was afraid to love, I was afraid of who I would become if I stayed. Falmage’s offer meant I couldn’t run away from Porth Karrek, that I had to learn to live with my past. I thought it would be easier to push you away than let the past in. But I was wrong about that, too.’
‘What changed your mind?’
‘You did, the music did. If you were brave enough to love, if you were brave enough to show up tonight after the things I said, then I needed to be brave enough to let myself love you. When I heard the tin whistle tonight, I realised this is me, all of me. Porth Karrek is about more than the past. It’s about the present you and I have made and the future we could build.’
But it was too late for that, Rosenwyn thought sadly. ‘I should not have interfered. Eaton would have offered the school without my intervention.’
He nodded. ‘Falmage said as much tonight.’ He blew out a breath. She could see it in the night air. ‘Falmage and I have come to terms. So, all that is left is for you and me to come to our terms. Do you think it’s possible for a stubborn Cornish man and a headstrong Cornish woman to do that?’
Hope sparked low in her belly as he reached for her hand. ‘I think it depends on what those terms are, Cade Kitto.’ Her stomach was a riot of butterflies. He had taken Falmage’s offer? What did that mean?
‘Those terms, Rose, are marriage.’ He knelt in his fine dark trousers on the snow-decked ground of the graveyard, before his mother’s gravestone, her hand in his. ‘Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? Of putting up with me for the rest of my days? I promise you nothing except two things: I will no doubt be hard to get along with at times, moody at others, but I will love you, ceaselessly, relentlessly.’
‘That’s all you ever needed to promise.’ She wiped at her tears with her free hand. ‘Get off your knees, Cade, and kiss me.’
‘Is that how you say yes?’ Cade rose and wrapped his arms about her, pressing her close against him as his mouth found hers, both of them crying and laughing, not caring that they’d drawn an audience of those who’d lingered to hear the Porth Karrek tradition of the midnight bells beneath snow-flecked skies.
‘I love you, Cade Kitto,’ Rosenwyn whispered and it seemed every crack in his heart healed at those words, that her words had made him whole. Ghosts became angels as the snow fell, brushing their clothes with its Christmas offering as it decorated the gravestones in white.
‘I love you, Rose,’ he murmured, barely getting the words out as the church clock struck midnight and the bells began to peal, echoing in the clear night sky as they rang in Christmas. ‘It is true, after all, the Reverend is right. He told me anything was possible tonight.’
Rosenwyn laughed. ‘He told me the same thing.’ Then she kissed him. ‘Nadelik Lowen, Cade.’
‘Nadelik Lowen.’ Three weeks ago, those words had struck a certain kind of terror in his heart. But not tonight. Cade looked to the sky where a bright star winked among the snowflakes and Christmas was forgiven.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story
check out Marguerite Kaye and Bronwyn Scott’s
other anthologies together
Scandal at the Midsummer Ball
Scandal at the Christmas Ball
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Highlander and the Governess by Michelle Willingham.
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The Highlander and the Governess
by Michelle Willingham
Chapter One
Scotland—1813
Everything will be all right.
Frances Goodson suppressed the tremor of nerves in her stomach, uncertain whether it was panic or luncheon that roiled within her now. But she stiffened her spine and reminded herself to find her courage. It didn’t matter that she was alone or that her family had turned their backs on her. She had an offer of employment and a roof over her head. Surely it would be enough.
The agency had trained her to be an excellent governess, although this was her first position. She had never expected to choose this path, but when a lady became destitute, there was no choice but to resort to desperate measures. At least being a governess was somewhat respectable, even if it was not the life she had planned.
Invitation to a Cornish Christmas Page 23