Pengarron Rivalry

by Pengarron Rivalry (retail) (epub)

  ‘Yes, I have. I feel this is something you need to know. I’ve always kept up with the affairs of the Mount, you see. Apparently, your husband long ago sold his shares in the Wheal Lowen to Sir Rafe Tremayne for a fair price. He sold jewellery, below its true value, it was rumoured, to others. Mrs Carew, I am sorry. Mr Carew was a kindly gentleman, but he was incurring gambling debts even before your marriage.’

  Sophie fell down in her chair, drained of colour, staring ahead. ‘Then he was a laughing stock! And me also. All this time I have ridden a high moral horse, and yet I am to be pitied.’

  Luke went to her. ‘I don’t pity you. I… I hold you in the highest regard.’

  She had no pride left and could not lift her head to meet his eyes. She wanted to run away, to weep in shame and remorse. As always, fate had yet another hole for her to fall in. Every time she climbed out of one there was another waiting not far ahead.

  Luke swallowed hard, his insides turned to liquid. Should he keep his peace, remain a concerned friend at this careful distance, or should he find courage and state his heart? Courage. He might never get a better opportunity. Sophie might respond favourably in her present misery and then she would be unlikely, when she felt her honour restored, to spurn him – he hoped. He hoped and prayed and crossed his fingers.

  ‘Mrs Carew. May I call you Sophie? Sophie… pray, do not be offended at what I’m about to say. The fact is – the truth is I swear that I feel much more than regard for you. I would have you know that you are the finest and the most wonderful person I have had the privilege to meet. I love you. I never thought I would ever fall in love, but I have, with you, and I swear on my soul that nothing else in the world matters to me. I wish to make you my wife, Sophie. Do not say no straight away, I beg you. Please take a little time to consider my proposal.’

  Gradually, slowly, throughout his impassioned speech, Sophie had lifted her head. It seemed she really had wrought a humble change in this once conceited man. There were even tears in his handsome dark eyes. Such an excellent figure he was, even with the slight misalignment of his shoulders, his clothes fitting him well now the weight brought about by greedy living had gone. And he had wealth, property, position. And he was offering to share it with her. But he had forgotten the complication in the shape of little Betty. Again Sophie wanted to run away and weep over the unfairness of fate. She had just received a once in a lifetime offer but it would soon be taken back. She opened her mouth to speak.

  Fearing she was about to thrust wretchedness again upon his soul, he added, ‘Before you say anything, Sophie, please let me also tell you that I’d like nothing more than to take on your sister’s child as ours. We could adopt her. I would settle a large dowry on her. Young Betty’s future would be assured. Sophie, I will agree to any condition you care to put on me. I love you. I love you with all my strength. I wish only to secure you and make you happy.’

  She was shocked and speechless, but she wasn’t about to turn down such a marvellous offer – infinitely better than Wilmot Carew’s – for herself and Betty. She held out her hand and Luke took it at once and helped her to rise. Somewhere from within her turmoil she found the means to warm up a smile for him.

  ‘Does this mean yes, Sophie? The answer is yes? You will have me?’ Luke exclaimed.

  ‘I will.’ Her voice emerged rusty and weary yet steeped with the relief from all her worries, except for Adelaide. And now she never need feel lonely again. ‘I would be greatly honoured to become your wife, Luke.’

  New tears glistened in his eyes, tears of pure joy. He kissed the back of her hand, then delicately leaned forward and kissed her lips, for just a moment.

  Sophie closed her eyes. This was what she had always dreamed of – a presentable young man of means declaring he loved her and offering her the respectability of marriage. She was pleased to allow Luke to gather her in and to make her feel safe at last.

  * * *

  Kelynen was wandering the cliffs with Rex, enjoying simply being alone with him. Digory had deserted Rex for a new friend – Gabriel. He was guarding Gabriel now while he rested in the summer house. Discovering the joys of the Romanesque building during one of the short walks Kelynen had taken him on, Gabriel now preferred to shut himself away in this lighter environment – a healthier replacement for the tower, of which everyone approved. And as if suddenly becoming aware of the delights of canine company, Gabriel encouraged Digory to his side, and Digory was a willing participant in the nightly sneak up to Gabriel’s bedchamber.

  Having left Gabriel in the care of Jacob Glynn, Kelynen felt good to be free, to have uninterrupted time in which to think about Rafe, to relive his embraces, his gentle touches and loving kisses, to go back over his every word, which held many a hint of promise. ‘I’m so looking forward to meeting your brother,’ he had said at breakfast. Please God, let Luke approve of Rafe.

  She picked her way along the path, which rose and fell gently, past blossoming gorse and banks of infantile ferns. In a few weeks the landscape would burst with patches of colour – towering tapering foxgloves, thrift, white clover, vetch, heather and a great many other wild flowers would appear, most bearing tiny delicate petals of blue, yellow, white or pink. Long grasses would snatch at a traveller’s feet then, but for now the ground was mostly quietly barren.

  Many feet tread this path – she had no doubt of that – moving stealthily during the night, slipping down into one of the many little coves and inlets she could see. Men from the mine and the local farms and hamlets, there to meet the rowing boats and fishing luggers bringing goods in off a ship that weighed anchor as close to shore as it dared, its crew nervously watchful for treacherous underwater rocks and Revenue cutters; the goods perhaps from Cherbourg or the Channel Islands.

  Such a thing had happened last night. There had been a certain tension in the house. She had overheard Jacob Glynn tell another servant, ‘Mr Josiah’s bound to make himself scarce tonight. He’s got no stomach for the trade.’ Rafe had dined with a strange, taut politeness, with a suppressed energy, as if ready to spring to his feet at any moment and dash outside. He had bid Kelynen not to leave the house after dark or to let Rex outside, and to keep her curtains closed in her room, and not to secrete herself away up in the attic library, their trysting place. She understood the dangers of candlelight shining out from so high up in the building like some pre-arranged signal. Doubtless, Rafe bribed the coastguard, the Riding Officer and anyone else he thought necessary to turn a blind eye to his illicit activities. It was almost unheard of for a Cornish gentleman to be arrested and found guilty of smuggling contraband into the country, but she had not slept until a slight tap sounded on her door and she knew Rafe was home safe.

  A small stretch of land, too small to be considered a headland, meandered out into the sea. Rex dashed off to investigate a jumble of huge, granite, lichen-dressed rocks sitting haphazardly near the edge. He disappeared, and she climbed over the rocks and found him in the centre of them, on a large patch of springy grass. ‘What a perfect place to hide,’ she laughed. She would come back and linger here another time, but today she was determined to explore one of the coves.

  Jacob Glynn had mentioned that Sir Rafe did not approve of his servants wandering this area. This would be due to the smuggling, of course, but it was also likely it was somewhere about here that his second wife had drowned. Ruth had been the provider of the tragic details, gleaned from a chambermaid. The second Lady Tremayne had been wading among the rocks, unaware that the tide was fast about to cut her off. There were few places to climb up and down safely and before she could be rescued she had drowned. Kelynen felt Rafe would not be happy about her intentions, but she would be careful on an unfamiliar beach.

  She left the jumble of rocks, Rex bounding on ahead. Here and there the cliff fell all the way down to the waters in proud dramatic drops; in other places it seemed to be bowing gracefully down to the sea. She thought she must soon come upon a place where the path would make a graduated desce
nt, perhaps curving back on itself three or four times and fashioned by man, where she could scramble down on to a beach. She went on and on, but there was nowhere like that. Disappointed, she turned back. Called to Rex to come to her. He ran past her and then suddenly he was not there.

  ‘Rex! Rex! Where are you?’ Her heart thundering in fear, she ran to the cliff edge, terrified he had plunged over.

  Then she saw the clever act of nature. What looked like the edge actually concealed a lower grassy ridge where there was a series of several small drops, almost like steps in the granite. Moments later there was an excited barking and she saw Rex about seventy feet below on the pale golden sand, running towards the shore. She was later to learn that this place was known as Rocky Cove.

  It was by no means a safe passage down, and at times she found it necessary to cling to roots or jutting rocks, or to ease herself down on her bottom, but she made it to the base in triumph. If this was a smuggler’s cove, how did the men make safe journeys up and down in the dark? Robust colleagues stationed at the top keeping a rope secured for them to hold on to, she guessed. With a sense of awe she gazed about as one who had discovered a secret. She felt like a trespasser, part of her wanting to find signs of last night’s smuggling run to confirm her suspicions, a greater part wanting to find everything bare and undisturbed for the safety of Rafe and his men.

  The entire shore was fronted by rocks and she was curious to find that here slate rock met up with the granite. She leapt nimbly from rock to rock, standing on the highest to watch the tide riding up in ecstatic frothy splashes and gushing back into the sea in tiny rivers. The tide was on the turn but she had plenty of time to climb safely back up to the cliff top.

  Again, Rex had disappeared. She called to him and was intrigued to see him coming out of an opening at the foot of the cliff. She hurried to the opening. A cave! It was a cave. Could it possibly be a hide? She felt a lurch of excitement, then a spark of guilt, for she shouldn’t be here. Rafe, of course, had unlimited places to hide his contraband. There was the crypt of his church – a false tomb, perhaps, among his ancestors in the little graveyard, or a false floor in one or more of his cellars. It would not be difficult to conceal it in the workings of Wheal Lowen. Even though it was rarely locked, one obvious place was the tower. Although Gabriel’s claim of a ghost there had partly been put down to his morbid state of health at the time, she had asked Rafe if it was haunted. ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Rafe had replied in confidential tones, lowering his eyes as if amused.

  Kelynen went into the cave. It was disappointingly shallow. She felt about the walls, hoping to find the shallowness was only an optical illusion, but discovered nothing deeper in the rough, damp rock. She was coming out when Rex growled deep in his throat. Instinct made her drag him back, sink down beside him and clamp her hands over his muzzle. A thrill of fear rode up her spine. She heard voices. Rough voices. Two men. Who must have been in the cove all the time! But where had they been? Another, deeper cave was the most likely explanation. Thank goodness she was not still up on the rocks facing the sea. The crunch of their feet over the pebbles was getting closer.

  ‘’Twas a good ’aul we ’ad last night.’

  ‘Sir Rafe was pleased.’

  ‘He said we’re to watch out even more next time.’

  ‘Wonder why.’

  ‘Probably ’cause of that wild rabble up near Gunwalloe. Well, they’d be looking to get in on what we’ve got going here. They’ve done it afore in other places. Cost two men their lives round at Newlyn, ’tis reckoned.’

  ‘Then ’tis best not spoken of at all.’

  ‘Right then, we’ve made sure everything did get stashed safely away. We’ve checked the beach, made sure there’s no sign of what went on.’

  ‘Ais, we’d better be getting on.’

  Kelynen held her breath. The men would soon reach her. If they looked into the cave they would see her. She flattened herself as much as possible behind Rex’s black body. The men passed by. The glimpse she had of their clothing indicated they were fishermen, most likely from Porthleven, about two miles away. If they had crab pots near the shore here, no one would question their presence. It was likely they had a boat pulled up and hidden not far away. After a minute she let out a heavy sigh. Presumably they had looked in her hiding place on their arrival in the cove. If discovered, her obvious breeding and her pleading that she was Sir Rafe’s guest should save her from danger, but she could not be sure. There were stories of those who had stumbled on smugglers’ hides being put to death, and these men had just spoken of others’ treachery.

  It seemed an age before the cove fell silent and she could reasonably be sure the men had gone. She let Rex go. His reaction would tell her if all was clear on the beach. Rex tore off, barking loudly, on the offence after the long confinement and his mistress’s alarm. Kelynen waited, praying the men had rowed away, or left the cliff top if they had walked here, and would not take issue with a straying dog.

  Rex came back to where she was crouching and licked her face in a snuffling, friendly fashion. The fright was over. Within minutes she had scrambled back up on to land, reproaching herself for her foolishness at coming this way so soon after a smuggling run. Rafe would be furious with her and rightly so. And she must look a mess. Her dress was creased and grubby. She wiped at her face with her handkerchief in case it was grimy. She would hate to look like an urchin in front of him. On a thought, she shook the hems of her dress and petticoat to remove all traces of sand, then took off her shoes and emptied them out, cleaned them, and brushed off her white silk stockings. No one would know she had been down in the cove.

  She hurried on. A time of quiet inside the circle of rocks would calm her, somewhere pleasant where she could think about Rafe and her hopes for a future with him. It had seemed strange at first, wanting to live away from Pengarron Manor, but not now. She wanted only to be with Rafe.

  Then she saw him. Coming towards her. Waving. Calling her name.

  And she ran to him, full of joy and love and wonderful expectation, straight into his arms.

  After a long stream of kisses, he said, ‘You are prettily flushed, beloved.’

  ‘I am a little unkempt.’ She frowned.

  ‘Do not apologize for that. I love the part of you that is still a child.’

  He took her to the rocks, helped her to climb over them, and they sat in the shade from the hot sun, closely entwined.

  He took off her milkmaid hat. ‘Let me look at you.’ Slowly, thoughtfully, with a fingertip, he traced the contours of her face. ‘You are so tender, so lovely, and so very much mine. Beloved, I intend to speak privately with Luke tonight. To ask him to write to your father, and if all is agreed – and I do so hope that it is, and quickly – then I shall meet you in my little chapel and bind you to me forever. Say it’s what you want too.’ He kissed her fiercely before she could answer. ‘Say it.’

  Her every pulse racing, her every emotion soaring high, she breathed against his lips, ‘I want nothing more, Rafe.’

  Almost before the last word trembled off her tongue, he kissed her with unrestrained enthusiasm. He filled her with excitement and a little fear at the passions that lay in store for her as his wife. When her breath had almost gone, he took his mouth away and gazed at her, gazed all the way down to her feet, peeping out from her petticoat. Back came his eyes, stopping at her throat, which he kissed, probing with his lips and the tip of his tongue. In the same way he had outlined her face, he felt along the neckline of her bodice, and suddenly pulled it down off her shoulders, which he covered with tumultuous kisses. Kelynen felt herself ever more melting to him. There was a strange rising within her, something that escalated and fanned out, that climbed and then fell and climbed again as if seeking to reach some undefined but supreme crest.

  Rafe reached down and pulled off her shoes. ‘I knew you’d have perfect, delicious feet, beloved.’ He massaged each foot gently, pushing his fingers between the silk of her stockings, div
iding her toes. Kelynen enjoyed the sensations but felt this was somehow wicked, overtly personal, and she was wanton in allowing him to continue. But how could she stop him? At that moment she had no power to do anything against Rafe’s will. He was in control of her, as if he was already her husband. With a thrill of trepidation and exhilaration, she knew he was not going to wait to become her husband. She forbade it in her mind, yet knew the thought would not ultimately win.

  ‘Am I frightening you?’ Rafe whispered into her ear.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Never be frightened of me, beloved. I know how to give pleasure without the risk.’

  She did not know what risk he was talking about, other than pregnancy – she knew that much after a frank talk with her mother – but she felt she did not know very much about what actually happened during intimacy. All she knew now was that she trusted him.

  He was gazing at her deeply. He gentled her down, asking her if she was comfortable, telling her again not to be afraid. His hands were tender, moving over her, creeping over her, gradually and relentlessly invading her. It was as if he was finding regions of her that had not existed before.

  She opened her eyes and found him watching her. ‘I’m about to make you mine, Kelynen. I shall be your first and your last love.’

  She was lost to him. And then suddenly she was lost altogether. She would do anything for him. Give him anything. What more could she give him than herself? This was her life now. Rafe was her life.

  Fifteen

  Sir Rafe’s guests were travelling to Chenhalls together in a Pengarron carriage along with another person whom Luke had taken the liberty of bringing along. Sophie.