‘I love you so much. This has been the best time of my entire life. Why can’t it always be like this?’
He knew the reason. He had a cunning, ruthless enemy. A man who loved Kerensa as he did. If the reason Pengarron was back home was because his love for her had outstripped his damnable pride, and if her feelings for him broke through her anger and horror over the accident, then his own cause would be lost again.
He clamped her face in his hands. ‘Kerensa, we can never tell what might happen. If for some reason we can’t meet like this again, you will seek me out? Even if it’s just to talk awhile? I couldn’t bear to be without your acknowledgement that we had something special.’
She reached up and tenderly smoothed out the furrows in his brow, then took his hands and kissed them. ‘Clem, beloved, I promise from my soul that there will never come a time when we must consider ourselves as unequal. When we come together as Harry’s grandparents, we will speak naturally, as we should. I’ll always love you, Clem.’
After a last emotional kiss, Clem left before the darkness turned into day.
A few hours must pass before she could leave. She went back upstairs and sat down on the bed, wrapping herself up in the bedcovers and pretending Clem was still there. Next time Clem came to Vellanoweth he would be bringing Catherine and the twins. It would not be easy to meet him like this. From his frantic words it seemed he doubted it would happen again. Only time would reveal what fate had in store for them.
And for her and Oliver.
Twenty-Five
Oliver was enduring a second sleepless night at home.
On his homecoming, Kerensa had spent a long time acquainting herself with Tamara, then after a quiet supper with him, Bartholomew, Cordelia and Kelynen, she had gone up to the master bedchamber alone. Tonight, she was away at Tolwithrick, having informed him of her invitation just prior to leaving in the afternoon.
When he remarked to Kelynen that it did not appear to be a party her mother was attending, she had explained that Kerensa had taken to going off for quiet reflection. Reflecting what?
Please God, let her be thinking about me. What we once had. What I could still give her if she’d only give me another chance.
Quietness? In Rachael’s raucous company? One had more chance of calm seas for a whole year. It had been the Tolwithrick carriage that had collected Kerensa. Was Tolwithrick her true destination? He really was terrified he had lost her.
He clenched his fists and beat them against his face. He paced up and down his study, drinking half a decanter of brandy, then stared out of the windows at his grounds, made strange and ghostly in the silvery moonlight.
‘Don’t go, stay here with me. Love me again,’ he had wanted to plead, but he couldn’t risk annoying her, driving her even further away.
He was almost amused at the thought that he was pining like a lovesick fool. Yearning after her like – like the young Clem Trenchard had once done.
‘Am I such a bad man?’ he asked himself aloud. Bad enough to have almost killed two members of his own family in a spell of jealousy, bad enough to bed the first woman available and risk destroying her happy marriage.
‘What’s wrong here, Uncle? I never thought to find the house under such a mood of despondency.’
Bartholomew was standing in the doorway. He had brought two bottles of claret, their necks dust-laden, from the well- stocked wine cellar.
‘Bring those in, Bartholomew, and I’ll relate what the others have been unwilling to say to you.’
‘The servants don’t quite know what to make of me after such a long absence,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Even Beatrice, who I must add, I’m astonished to find is still this side of the grave. Can’t understand why Cordelia is being mysterious, but she is somewhat distracted. In love, I suppose. It’s time she was. The way she croons over Tamara says she’d make a wonderful mother. This smells divine.’ Bartholomew handed Oliver a large glass of the ruby-red wine. ‘Well, what goes on here? Obviously you and my aunt have quarrelled.’
‘It’s much more serious than that. Sit down and prepare yourself for a shocking story. You have not been to visit Kane yet, or you would know he’s recovering from a broken leg and other injuries, for which I am entirely responsible.’ When Oliver had finished speaking his voice was hoarse and both bottles of wine were empty. His head felt as if a storm was raging inside it. It was as if he was out on the great seas, all alone in a tumult, being slapped this way by a thundering wave called Loathing, and that way by another called Unforgiven. No one wanted to climb into his boat, no one wanted him to reach a calm port. Kane had not written for over a week, and even Shelley had partly deserted him for the excitements of her new responsibilities in the affairs of the estate.
‘The servants are polite to me and all Beatrice says is,’ he mimicked her, ‘“’Tes yer own bleddy fault!” She regards Kerensa much more affectionately than she ever did me. So, nephew, there you have it. How the mighty have fallen. Have you heard a greater tale of woe?’
‘A tale of tragedy, yes, for I loved my late wife as much as you love my aunt, but as for woe, you have first place, I’m sorry to say, Uncle. Like all women, even my sainted aunt gives way to what I call aberrations of the mind. She’ll come round. It’s hard for you while you’re waiting, but it will happen. I know enough of the good and generous lady who took my mother’s place to be certain of that. And then all will be well. There’s too much good history between you and Aunt Kerensa to be otherwise. Don’t worry about Kane, he doesn’t bear grudges and why care what his wife thinks of you?’ Bartholomew smiled as if sharing an amusing secret. ‘Take heart, that fair-headed piece of scum will never match you. You’ll win the day and with every honour and all the glory. I always do, no matter what is before me, for it is you I emulate every time. No man has ever taught me better. No man has ever outstripped the pride I have in you and, on my honour, none will ever surpass the loyalty I owe you. If I can do anything for you, just name it and I’ll do my outmost to accomplish it.’
‘By the singing of angels, Bartholomew, you encourage me. You can do something for me right now. Revisit the cellar and return with a whole armful of spirits, then drink with me until we cannot stand up.
‘Tomorrow, I shall ask your aunt to ride with me to Vellanoweth. She has no plan to go there but she’ll not refuse, she goes at every other opportunity. She can hear me say a special farewell to the man who dares call me a bastard-crow before he leaves for his moorland dirt-farm.’
Twenty-Six
The rose garden at the manor was at its best. Set out in a rectangle, the beds were arranged in arcs and scallops, then four oval shapes around a central circle, every rose bearing both buds and fully opened blossoms, which filled the air with their strong intoxicating scents and gratified the senses with their dazzling colours.
Neglecting her dress by sitting on a corner of one of the dew-laden grass paths, Cordelia’s mind, however, was on the grape hyacinths she had picked before talking and walking with Morgan Kinver. Like the grape hyacinths he was not completely cultivated, yet not wild or uncouth. She liked his calm speech and thoughtful ways. She liked his clean smell better than the cologne Luke splashed on himself. More often Luke stank of spilled alcohol – he drank too much.
Cordelia was still smarting over his unjust anger with her. ‘Where the hell were you when Alicia fainted? Anything could have happened to her. Don’t you care?’ he had shouted. Who on earth had he thought he had been talking to? A bone-idle servant? A woman of the streets? Those were the sort of people who deserved such reproach. Not she, who worked herself tirelessly in running his house to a well-timed efficiency, so he was able to go about his writing undisturbed. And why must Alicia always come first? She did, every day and in every way, even if Luke said she did not. He must be in love with her. What other explanation was there for the way he cared about her comfort and her whereabouts, and the special way he smiled at her, the soft voice he kept just for her. He was always looking at her,
when his mind wasn’t on his play it was on her.
All the devotion she, herself, had given him over many long years counted for nothing.
Well, I have another man interested in me now. How do you like that? she asked Luke’s arrogant image in her mind.
Before parting with Morgan Kinver after their walk, he had asked her politely, ‘May I take the liberty of asking to see you again?’
She had not replied and he had conceded his improper suggestion by dropping his eyes, stepping backwards and giving an apologetic bow.
‘Perhaps you will think about it.’
Perhaps she would.
‘Perfect, don’t move, hold that pose exactly as it is. Never have I seen a more beautifully melancholy expression in such a heavenly setting.’
The voice had a similarity to Morgan Kinver’s and for an instant Cordelia thought she must have conjured him up across land and air to this very place. However, Morgan would never speak to her so condescendingly, be so personal.
She looked up slowly, irritated and insulted. Who was this man who had the impertinence to address her so?
‘Madam, or is it miss? Forgive my audacity for speaking to you without being introduced. My name is George Spears, you may have heard of me. I am here to call upon Sir Oliver and Lady Pengarron. I have been instructing their daughter, Mrs Timothy Lanyon, on how to perfect her portraits. We are all to dine here on the morrow. I have the habit of exploring a location before the host shows me about, so I may pick an ideal spot myself for a sitting rather than one that’s pressed on me, which is usually totally unsuitable.’
George Spears swept his soft pale hands about as if he was conducting a slow symphony. ‘You would be just the very thing for Mrs Lanyon, just there, precisely how you are. We shall demonstrate for her when the time comes. And who might you be?’
Cordelia felt the greatest rage of her life boil up in her. Of all the rudest, insufferable braggarts in the world, this white-haired individual was the biggest of them all.
‘I don’t care who you are, and who I am is none of your business. Sir Oliver would certainly not approve of you tramping over his property without the courtesy of being invited. He and Lady Pengarron are abroad. Mrs Lanyon is a fool if she accepts anything you say about her art work. I doubt if you could teach her anything worthwhile. Now go away, I do not wish for your company for another second.’
* * *
Kane was leaning on his crutches, gazing into the meandering stream that ran down through his land. He was debating what to do about his mother and his father-in-law.
If only Jessica had not asked Clem if he was having an affair with his mother, he would not now have the awesome duty of deciding what to do about it. Clem may not have actually admitted it, but there were too many signs for he and Jessica to believe otherwise.
Telling his father was out of the question, blood might be spilled and the whole family would be destroyed. Should he approach his mother? How does one mention such a sensitive thing? Should he show the anger he felt, or the understanding? Her affair with Clem was not the usual kind of sordid thing. Surely, he must confront Clem? It was his duty. He had no other choice. He must warn Clem that he would not be welcome again at Vellanoweth if he intended to see his mother. The affair, the madness had to end.
If only his father had not tried to grab Clem that day. If only he, himself, had not tried to intervene, then the accident would never have happened and his parents would not have quarrelled and Clem would have returned to Greystone’s Farm long ago, and the affair would never have started. If only life and love were simple.
* * *
Kerensa kept glancing anxiously at Oliver on the ride to Vellanoweth, but apart from giving her the occasional warm smile, he said nothing.
His horse had a longer stride than her pony and he kept Gereint in check so that they rode together.
She couldn’t bear it. ‘You haven’t told me why we are to see Kane today. Is there some special reason?’
‘I think it’s time I spoke to Jessica directly. I want to end the bad feeling between us.’
‘I don’t trust you.’
‘Do you not, Kerensa?’
She reined in. He stopped also, waiting patiently.
‘Oliver, look at me.’
He did so, turning Gereint round so he was facing her. ‘My dear?’
‘You obviously know Clem is leaving for home today. Do you intend to cause trouble?’
‘No, Kerensa, I do not.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Give me your word.’
‘It’s not necessary, but you have it. Shall we carry on?’ Kerensa took Kernick forward at a trot. Oliver stayed back a few strides then came forward and took his place beside her again. ‘Is that a new riding habit, my dear?’
She knew she cut a fine figure in the velvet two-piece habit, crisp white lace flowing from her wrists and throat. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Absolutely not. Buy as many dresses as you please. You look very beautiful. I’m proud of you.’
She felt increasingly nervous at his possessive undertones. ‘Thank you.’
By the time they rode into the farm yard, their mounts’ hooves clacking more loudly over the cobbles than her ears could stand, as if announcing to the whole world they were here and had come together, Kerensa felt she was collapsing inside.
Clem was at the side door, dressed for riding, holding his packed bags. Kane, Jessica and Harry were gathered on the doorstep and Ben Penberthy was bringing Tally forward. Servants and farm workers had gathered to say goodbye.
When Oliver lifted her down off the side-saddle, Kerensa felt chilled through to the bone and couldn’t stop shaking.
As her face passed his, she whispered, ‘Oliver, please don’t…’
She looked across at Clem. He came forward, head up, tight-lipped. Please don’t say anything, her eyes begged him.
Jessica was more feisty than her father.
‘If you’ve come to cause trouble, Sir Oliver, you can just get back on your horse, turn round and go back the way you’ve come.’
‘I’m here to see your father, Jessica.’
‘You couldn’t possibly have anything to say to me that I’ll want to hear,’ Clem hissed, dropping his bags and balling his fists. ‘You’re the man who nearly killed my grandson, who terrified my little girl.’
‘I know, and I accept all that, and I take full responsibility for all the unpleasantness that happened at my house. And it’s time I told you to your face how sorry I am. I apologize unreservedly to you, Clem Trenchard, for all the hurt I’ve caused you and your family, and even back to all those years ago when I took my wife away from you as your intended bride. The circumstances of the last few weeks have caused me to search my soul and I’ve come to the conclusion that I have much to be ashamed of. I have already written to Mrs Trenchard with a full apology.
‘Here’s my hand, you may choose for yourself if you take it.’
Clem looked with anger then horror at the large dark hand held out at the level of his heart. This was no act of contrition. The clever bastard was employing tactics in the most underhand of ways to reconcile himself to Kerensa. He had left her with nothing to reproach himself with. If he didn’t take his hand, accept his apology, then Pengarron would successfully change places with him where wrong attitudes were concerned. And if, while accepting his hand, he whispered how much he hated him, wished him all the harm under the sun, Pengarron would later tell this to Kerensa.
Kerensa watched them in abject misery. These two men who she loved so very much in different ways, were locked in a silent battle over her. If they asked her to choose between them right now she would not be able to. She could not have them both and she could not bear to be without either one. Putting the back of her hand to her mouth she let her tears fall, dropping down over her wrist and the snowy white lace.
‘Make your decision, Clem,’ Kane said briskly. ‘My mama is quite overcome.’
I won’t let you take her b
ack from me, Clem’s blistering glare conveyed to his enemy. Then his expression softened as he pictured Kerensa in his arms, he loving her, her loving him. Whatever the outcome of this sham, nothing could change the fact that he and Kerensa had been as husband and wife.
‘I agree with you, sir, it’s time to put the past behind us.’ The future was a different matter. ‘I accept your apology. For the sake of our children and grandchild let all be considered forgotten.’
Kane hobbled forward and clamped his hands on their shoulders. ‘This is the act of brave and honourable men. Well done.’ Not that he believed for an instant that either man was sincere. Aware of each other’s battle plan, they were merely shifting their defences. Pray God there would not be a fresh onslaught. Suggesting they drink to their public announcements would be going too far. He hoped Clem would not complicate the situation by lingering.
Turning to kiss Jessica and Harry goodbye, Clem strode away without another look at the baronet.
When he got to Kerensa, he bowed, ‘Goodbye, m’lady.’
There was no one close to overhear and he mouthed, ‘I love you.’
He swung up on to Tally’s back and Ben passed him his bags. He rode away.
Kerensa watched him for several stunned seconds. He was leaving and she had to tell him he was taking a part of her with him.
‘Clem!’ she called out from where she stood in the middle of the yard, alone.
Clem halted and brought the mare round. He took off his hat and waved it to her.
‘Have a safe journey, Clem. Goodbye.’ Kerensa was aware that Oliver was coming up fast behind her, but she stayed looking at the man on the horse.
Twenty-Seven
Alicia Rosevear had not been an early riser in her old life, but with Cordelia away she had taken over the responsibility of running Polgissey, and could now be found up and about before the tenth hour each day. Her easy manner, and her sympathetic concern for the pregnant kitchen maid, had quickly brought the servants to respond in kind.
Pengarron Dynasty Page 19