"You still don't understand how much I love you," he said harshly, despair written on every handsome feature.
"No, I do," Polly protested, "It's just that I—"
Whatever she had been going to say was cut short as a shrill cry shattered the moment. The voice that had cried out was so familiar, that it could almost have been Polly's own.
"Emily!" Polly whipped her head toward where the shout had come from, and saw her sister's bonnet floating in the choppy waters of the harbour; she must have somehow fallen in!
Polly lifted her skirts to run to where Emily must have entered the water, but there was a figure ahead of her, already mounting the low wall of the pier and preparing to dive into the troubled sea.
"There's a fierce undercurrent James," Jack Beverly called from a distance. The fisherman, and many of the gathered crowd, were running in the direction of the pier, but no one was as near as James.
If James had heard Jack's warning, he gave no sign. He scanned the turbulent waves, took a deep breath and dived beneath the water.
"James," Polly cried, making to scramble up onto the wall, but strong arms held her back.
"Stay back, lass," Jack Beverly urged softly, "It's a wicked current that runs through the harbour, and it's even worse when there's a storm. You'd be pulled out to sea in seconds."
"Let the current take me then," Polly sobbed; what use was there in staying on dry land, when the two people she loved the most were lost beneath the crashing waves. Her last words to James taunted her as she scanned the water for a sign of either her sister or her friend. How could she have said that she did not know if she loved him, when her love for him was now ripping apart her heart?
Some of the local fishermen had managed to launch their small boats into the water of the harbour. They bobbed through the waves, bravely battling the currents whilst shouting Jack and Emily's names, as the crowd gathered pier-side huddled together against the lashing rain.
Just when it seemed that all hope was lost, a shout went up from one of the boats.
"We've got them!"
Relief coursed through Polly, a feeling so great that her knees went weak and she stumbled, only avoiding falling completely thanks to Jack's strong arms.
"It's alright, lass," he murmured, "They're safe."
Polly lifted her head, to see if he was right, and then from somewhere a piercing sob tore through the air, so loud that it could be heard over the rumbles of thunder.
It was she who had sobbed, for she had seen that the fishermen were indeed hauling two people into the boat, but neither person was moving and both appeared completely still.
Lifeless.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"I must have died and gone to heaven."
"No, you're very much alive--though, I'm sad to say that your poor Hessians met a watery end."
Polly Jenkins stood at the end of the bed, the warm, blessedly soft bed, that James now lay on. He had no idea where he was, the only thing that he knew for certain was that he was not in his own bed and that Polly Jenkins was standing before him, with a look of tenderness in her eyes that he had never seen before.
"Emily?" James struggled to sit up, worry suddenly coursing through his body at the memory of what had transpired and why it was he that was lying in a room that was not his.
"She is in the room next door, composing an apology note for putting you in such a perilous situation," Polly replied tartly, scowling a little at the mention of her sister.
"How did she fall?" James asked, as Polly bustled forward to arrange the pillows better, so that he could sit up.
"She was leaning over the wall of the pier, looking to see how far the boat had travelled," Polly replied, busy pulling the wool blanket up to his chin. "When a rumble of thunder startled her and she tumbled in."
"Thank goodness we were there," James whispered, unable to picture what might have happened if he and Polly had not been close to hand.
"There was no "we" about it," Polly retorted, seating herself gingerly at the edge of the bed, as though afraid to touch him. "It was you, you risked your life to save Emily and I don't know how to thank you."
The words "marry me" were on the tip of James' tongue, but he held back. He did not want Polly to marry him out of a sense of obligation; he wanted her to want him, as he wanted her.
"In the instant that you entered the water," Polly continued, her elegant hands plucking nervously at the blanket. "I realised something."
"Oh?" James raised an eyebrow, hoping against hope that he knew what she would say next, but scarcely allowing himself to think it. It would be too huge a blow to hear her say something mundane, like she realised that she valued his friendship, or--heavens forbid--that she had realised she had left the front door unlocked.
"I realised," Polly said, her eyes cast down away from his, "That in that instant I could not have said who I was more afraid of losing; you, or Emily. For I love you both equally James, and I don't know why it took me so long to understand that."
There were tears in her eyes, which James leaned over to wipe away tenderly. He allowed his hand to rest against her cheek, wishing to comfort her in whatever small way he could. She gave a watery, self-conscious laugh and made to speak, but he interrupted her before she could.
"Please, don't say you're being silly or emotional," he pleaded, his voice low. "Or try to brush aside your feelings because I could not bear it Polly."
"I won't," she whispered, brushing her cheeks with the back of her hands, in an act that was almost futile for tears still fell from her deep, green eyes. "I just cannot believe how silly I have been, that I did not see what was in front of me, until I thought it lost."
"And what is it that you see, in front of you?" James asked, silently urging her to say all the things he had longed, for so long, to hear.
"A good man," Polly began, sniffling a little as she spoke. "A man who is honest, trustworthy, a true friend...and a man who would make a wonderful husband."
"Is that all?" James teased with a wicked grin. "You don't find me handsome at all? Just trustworthy, honest and good?"
"No, of course I find you handsome," Polly protested quickly, then seeing the mischievous light in his eyes, she thwacked him on the chest with annoyance. "Oh, you are a beast James Black!"
"A handsome one at least," James quipped, grabbing the hand that poked and prodded his chest, and using it to pull her gently against him. Her soft body, which was now pressed against his, was enough to cure any aches or pains he might have felt, and he knew that he must ask her one question, and very quickly, before he lost all sense of chivalry and thoroughly debauched her.
"So, am I to take it that you are saying yes to my proposal of marriage?"
It was her turn to tease him now, and Polly allowed his question to hang in the air for a few long moments, before giving a throaty laugh and nodding her consent.
"I'm afraid I still have a little water in my ears, my dear Poll," James said, "You'll have to speak up."
"Yes," with her free hand she again thwacked his chest, a feigned look of annoyance on her beautiful face. "Yes, I will marry you; though I see now how much I will suffer being your wife!"
"How much you will suffer?" James adopted an air of mock outrage, "When it is I who have been attacked so outrageously on my sickbed."
"We will be arguing until we are both old and grey," Polly observed, as they smiled at each other shyly.
"Yes, but then we will make up every time," James replied, bending his head to show her just how sweet making up could be. His lips caught hers and he pulled her against his chest, kissing her with a deep, yearning hunger. He knew that perhaps he should attempt some kind of restraint, but after waiting more than a decade to feel her lips on his, restraint was completely beyond him.
Much to his relief, she did not pull away, instead she shyly met his demands, offering herself to him completely. Their union was an assault on his senses; her lips were soft, her scent sweet, light and teasing
, and he could feel her luscious curves pressed against him. With the meeting of lips, a fire had been ignited, and as the minutes wore on James feared that he would not have the power to pull back at the required moment.
Luckily, his self control was not to be tested that afternoon, for a light tapping on the door pulled the couple from their embrace. Polly leapt up, straightening her hair which had come undone, before calling gaily for the visitor to come in. The door opened slowly with a creak and Emily, wearing a look of contrition, poked her head around.
"May I come in?" she asked, directing her question to James, who nodded easily.
The young woman shuffled over to his bedside and thrust a page, covered in looped, feminine writing at him.
"It's my apology," Emily explained, as James took the sheet from her. "Shall I tell you what it says?"
Without waiting for James to reply, Emily launched into a long monologue on the deep sorrow that filled her heart, for having put her friend's life in danger with her thoughtless actions. She seemed to have learned her apology note off by heart, James thought hiding a smile, as Emily finished rattling off her letter.
"I am mostly sorry because I think of you as a brother," Emily concluded, oblivious to both James' and Polly's hidden smiles. "And if you had drowned trying to rescue me, I would have mourned you as a brother."
"Thank you," James cleared his throat, hoping that he sounded sincere instead of amused. "I think of you as a sister as well, Emily. In fact, soon you may be my sister in law —would you like that?"
It was odd to feel so nervous, but as James watched Emily think, her brow furrowed, his heart began to beat a little erratically. What would Polly do if her sister declared herself against their union? Whilst James knew that it was unlikely Emily would object, she was a funny, little thing and might take against the idea.
Luckily, the young woman's face broke into a sunny smile and she nodded her approval.
"I think that's rather clever," Emily advised, throwing Polly a look of congratulations, presumably for having thought up such a good idea. "Then we can live together as a family and James won't have to stay in that old cottage."
"Don't tell your sister," James whispered, "But that was the main reason I asked her to marry me; so that I could move out of that miserable, damp cottage and spend my days living with my two favourite people."
"Beast," Polly murmured, though she did not look annoyed. In fact, she was blooming, her skin glowed and her cheeks were flushed with happiness. Emily glanced at her sister, seeming to notice something new about her appearance.
"Perhaps you will have a baby," she said, causing Polly to flush even more.
"Oh, there's no perhaps about it," James replied, relishing the sweet look of embarrassment which Polly wore. "We shall have at least half a dozen--perhaps more—and they will have an accomplished aunt to help care for them."
"I will be an aunt?" Emily's eyes widened with excitement. "Oh, I hadn't thought of that. Why, you must get started straight away, if that is the case."
"Those are my feelings on the matter too, Lady Emily," James said seriously, giving his bride to be, whose face was now the same colour as her flaming, red hair, a discreet wink. "Alas, we must wait for the banns to be read, but that gives us time to think about where it is we will all live together."
"Will we not still live here?"
The mood in the room changed and Polly cast James a quelling glance. There would be time enough to discuss where they would live; though James knew that he would not allow Polly to start life as his wife, cooking and cleaning for other people. He would hire a maid, a cook and a gardener, so that Polly would be free to spend her days as she pleased. And, if it pleased her to spend them in bed with him, then all the better.
"You look tired, James," Polly said, a calming hand on Emily's shoulder. "We will leave you rest. Would you like a tray brought up to you at tea-time?"
He shook his head, for though he was tired, he wasn't an invalid. All he needed was a hot bath, a hair brush, and a new set of boots and then he would be himself again. Actually, he thought, as the door closed behind the two Jenkins sisters, he would be better than just himself again; he would be the happiest man in the world.
Mr Wilpole, the congenial vicar of the parish of St Jarvis, had been delighted when James called on him to announce the news of his betrothal to Polly.
"Do you know," the rotund man said happily, as he searched for the marriage register in his untidy study, "I said a prayer to St Peter that things would work out for you both."
"I didn't realise it was tradition to pray to St Peter with marriage intentions," James replied, "If I had known, I would have been on my knees nightly."
"Ah, no," the vicar flushed a little, "Ask your dear wife to be and she'll explain. Ah-ha, here it is."
From a drawer in his writing bureau, the vicar pulled out a dusty marriage register, whose pages were filled with the names of hundreds of St Jarvians. James felt a surge of happiness, as he thought that, soon, both his and Polly's name would be entered into it. Joined together for life.
"I'm forever losing this silly thing," Mr Wilpole continued, as he scribbled something into the book. "And it would be awful if I did. Some thirty years ago, there was a fire in the vestry and all the church records stretching back nearly three-hundred years were lost; bar this one. I had forgotten to return it after a funeral and usually Mrs Wilpole despairs over my absent-mindedness, though it saved one-hundred years of history on that occasion!"
Mr Wilpole looked most pleased with himself, though his expression quickly changed to one of discouragement as he scoured his desk for something.
"Can't find my ruddy spectacles," he muttered, half to himself as he rifled through stacks of papers.
"You're wearing them," James helpfully supplied, suppressing a grin. The vicar's wife seemed quite right in despairing her husband's absent-mindedness; James could only hope that he would remember the date he had agreed to perform the wedding.
"Ah, so they are," Mr Wilpole beamed, pushing the spectacles up the bridge of his nose with a pudgy finger. He read over what he had written in the marriage register, gave a satisfied sigh, and snapped the book shut so forcefully that it elicited a small plume of dust.
"We shall see you in three weeks then, Captain," the vicar said, holding out his hand for James to shake. "And that won't come too soon for you, eh?"
James nodded silently, wondering how it was that everyone seemed to sense his impatience at waiting for the day of the wedding. Well, the night of the wedding, to be more precise. With a hurried goodbye to the vicar, who was chuckling away at his own joke, James departed the vicarage.
He would have taken the short journey across the green to the boarding house, had a familiar figure on horseback not hailed him down; the Duke of Everleigh.
"Ah, there you are Black," Everleigh called, as he dismounted his stallion.
"You were looking for me, Your Grace?" James asked, as the Duke led his horse across the green.
"Indeed I was, would you like to join me for a drink to toast your impending nuptials?"
James presumed that the Duchess had told her husband of his betrothal, for James had not. News spread quickly in small villages, though James regretted that it was not he who had told the Duke, for in effect by proposing to Polly, James had committed to a life on land.
The pair strolled down the steep, cobbled slope of Shop Street to The Fisherman's Friend, where Jack Lawless greeted them with a smile. Everleigh did not speak until a frothy, hoppy tankard of ale was placed before him.
"To a long and happy marriage," he said magnanimously, lifting his glass to James in a toast. "Even though it means that I will lose two of my best employees."
"Ah," James started, "I had forgotten that Polly was employed by you."
"For nearly a decade," Everleigh smiled at the memory, "And she only aimed a pistol at me once it that time--it's quite a feat, my wife tells me, for apparently I'm a most disagreeable man."
"A pistol?" James raised his eyebrows in confusion.
"I rather deserved it," Everleigh shrugged, elaborating no further.
James made a mental note to ask Polly what on earth she had been doing pointing a pistol at the Duke of Everleigh the next time they spoke. Her actions did not seem to have angered her employer, rather the Duke seemed a little impressed by it.
"Have you decided where you shall live?" Everleigh questioned, after a few minutes of companionable silence. The question he asked was the same one that James had been thinking of, every minute since he had proposed to Polly. He had money, and lots of it, but no home or land to offer his new wife.
"Polly is loathe to leave St Jarvis," James replied, giving a shrug. "Though there are few places here that will suit our needs."
"Something might come up," the Duke replied mysteriously, before changing the subject. "Have you told your father's family of your plans? There's a small estate near Truro that Ludlow leases--perhaps they would grant you the lease on that?"
"You know of my connection to Ludlow?" James lifted his eyebrows in question.
"Met Keyford on my way here," Everleigh took a deep sip of his ale and set his glass down upon the bar. "He may have mentioned it. Apologies, if I overstepped the mark."
"No, not at all," James dismissed Everleigh's apology with an easy wave. He didn't give a fig who knew of his parentage or his past, all he cared about was his future with Polly.
"Keyford thinks rather highly of you," Everleigh offered.
"We've only spoken the once."
James' reply was flippant, but it cheered him to know that Lord Keyford had so heartily approved of him, for he had liked Keyford in turn.
"He thinks it's a shame that you are not the heir to the Ludlow estate."
The Duke's tone was casual, but for some reason James sensed that there was a note of hesitation in his voice. Perhaps, like Keyford, the Duke had misgivings about the current Lord Livingstone. Which wouldn't surprise James, if the rumours about his half-brother were true.
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