Pengarron Rivalry

by Pengarron Rivalry (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’m in love with Rafe!’ Kelynen was stung by his disregard over what she really wanted. ‘When will you allow me my heart and stop insisting it’s infatuation I feel? Can you not accept that my feelings for him are the same as yours are for Sophie? How would you like it if I suggested you jilted her? She doesn’t love you and has nothing to offer you.’

  Afraid Sophie would come downstairs and overhear a quarrel in which her name would be unkindly bandied, Luke dragged Kelynen away to the study. ‘Take back what you just said! It was vicious.’

  ‘No, I will not. You have no care for my feelings so why should I care for yours? Get your hands off me or I’ll call Rex and set him on you.’

  ‘Yet again, Sister, you show your immaturity. Has it not occurred to you that this is what Rafe Tremayne admires in you? His former brides were very young. As for Sophie, she is everything I want. She doesn’t behave like a moody brat! What have you against her? You were friends.’

  Kelynen issued a long, exasperated sigh. She had not wanted to get involved in another petty argument with Luke. ‘I’ve nothing against her. I was merely trying to point out that you are about to marry the one you love, so why shouldn’t I? Why can’t you be happy for me, Luke?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Luke was suddenly thoughtful. ‘Kelynen, are you sure your attraction to Sir Rafe isn’t simply a wish to marry someone who reminds you of Father? Livvy, Kane and I are all aware of how much you’ve missed him. Surely you can’t think this man measures up to him in any way?’

  Kelynen wasn’t one for slapping faces but now she treated Luke to one that resounded round the room. ‘How dare you? I am not a fool. I know what I feel in my heart. Where I differ from you, Luke, and perhaps you are jealous of this because here I can outdo you, is that the person whom I love, loves me back. I shall know passion with Rafe. Can you say that about your bride?’

  Luke rubbed his stinging face. She had touched the raw spot in his otherwise happy heart. ‘Damn you, Kelynen!’

  There was a nervous knock on the door. Polly O’Flynn’s voice, subdued and apologetic, stole through the storm. ‘Excuse me, sir. Miss Kelynen, Mr Gabriel Tremayne requests your presence in the parlour.’

  Kelynen stalked past Luke and the housekeeper, who had her eyes aimed at the floor.

  ‘Any idea what’s going on, Mrs O’Flynn?’ Luke asked, wheeling his stiff shoulder, the tension making it ache. ‘Do you think something’s amiss?’

  ‘I fear so, Mr Luke. Mr Josiah Tremayne has already left to return to Chenhalls, and Mr Gabriel whispered to me that Beatrice and Mrs Carew should be brought to attend on Miss Kelynen.’

  Luke sighed. ‘Go, then, and fetch them please.’

  Luke stationed himself outside the parlour. Apprehension caught at his nerves. Sir Rafe Tremayne was as much a womanizer as his nephew Josiah was – as he himself had been until he’d fallen in love with Sophie. Had Sir Rafe sent word that he had a new mistress and was no longer considering remarriage, or was even planning to take a different wife? Luke couldn’t think what else could have warranted the visitation of the odious Josiah Tremayne. He was unprepared for the sudden terrible, anguished scream from Kelynen.

  Sophie had nearly reached him but he didn’t see her as he shot through the parlour door. Kelynen was bawling in a state of collapse in Gabriel’s arms, and he was crying too.

  ‘What is it?’ Luke skidded to a halt.

  Doing nothing to prevent his tears, Gabriel explained in a stricken voice, ‘There was a smuggling run on Chenhalls property last night. It was betrayed. A gang of cut-throats, believed to come from near Gunwalloe, fought against my uncle’s men. Uncle Rafe was hurled off the cliff. He died shortly afterwards.’

  A fresh outbreak of weeping came from Kelynen. She clung to Gabriel, her body shaking and retching. ‘No! No!’ she cried.

  Luke glanced at Sophie. Her eyes were large and shocked in her lovely face. She advanced towards Kelynen. ‘My dear, I’m so very sorry.’

  Luke grasped Kelynen’s shoulders. ‘Beloved, come to me. I’ll send for Livvy and Timothy. I’m sure you’ll want Livvy here until Mama arrives home, and Timothy can give you spiritual comfort. I’ll also send word to Kane and Jessica. Take heart, you’ll soon have all your family with you.’

  Kelynen thrust his hands off her. ‘Leave me! Go away! I don’t want any of you. I just want Rafe! I want Rafe, oh God help me, I want Rafe.’

  ‘I think it best we leave her awhile with Mr Tremayne,’ Sophie said, grabbing at Luke, for he was determined to wrench Kelynen away and clasp her to himself.

  Beatrice waddled in through the doorway on Polly’s arm. Luke glanced despairingly at the old nursemaid for advice.

  ‘Missus Carew’s right. Give ’em a few minutes,’ she rasped, her raddled eyes wet over Kelynen’s distress.

  Luke withdrew, taking Sophie with him. ‘You have my deepest sympathy, Gabriel.’

  Gabriel nodded and wrapped Kelynen in tighter to him.

  On the other side of the door Luke pulled his face down in torment. ‘Oh, Lord, I was only quarrelling with her minutes ago about Rafe Tremayne. She really loved him and I couldn’t accept it. What’s she going to do?’

  ‘The young gen’leman’ll be her best hope fer now,’ Beatrice deliberated. ‘Oh! The poor little soul. If only Sir Oliver was here – and a maid needs her mother at a time like this.’

  Alone with Luke shortly afterwards in his mother’s sitting room, Sophie said, ‘Do you think we ought to postpone the wedding?’

  He took her into his arms, feeling the need for the comfort of bodily warmth as Kelynen’s lamenting went on and on. ‘No. I mean, I don’t want that. Do you? I’ll talk to my father. It’s going to be a quiet ceremony anyway. We could go ahead but forsake the celebration.’

  ‘Yes, I think that will do. Poor, dear Kelynen. She doesn’t deserve this heartbreak.’ Sophie nestled her face against his neck. To witness love and tragedy in all its extremity had left her shaken.

  Her lashes caressed his skin and her breath warmed him. Luke shivered in delight, then looked down on her lips. They were slightly parted, unwittingly inviting. Her eyes were closed, so he knew she was at ease in his embrace. He kissed her, not in his usual controlled way, but with steady force. Relieved it was not herself who was bereaved of her bridegroom, she roped her arms round his neck.

  Desire flamed in Luke and he wondered if she would allow any liberties. He wanted to disprove the impression others had of her that she was interested in him only for his wealth and position. Did she find him attractive? Did she have any affection for him? He took his mouth from hers and placed it over the delicious hollow of her neck, pressing into her softness, tasting her, wanting to know her. It was hardly the time to be making sensuous approaches towards Sophie, with his sister perhaps needing him any moment, but he couldn’t keep restraint. He edged her to the side of the door so that if anyone opened it and entered they would remain unseen. Sophie leaned against the panelled wall, her head touching one of Livvy’s family portraits, her eyes boring into his.

  She went on staring at him, her breathing coming fast, her bosom heaving. Luke swept his gaze down to the upper swells of her breasts just in sight above a muslin fichu – such an exquisite creamy place of beauty and promise. He knew her shape was perfect and longed to see more. He stepped even closer to her, gazing into her eyes again. Sophie swallowed. Then, in a gesture rare to her, she reached up and gentled away a loose strand of black hair from his face. Taking this as her permission – and that she was even daring him to take advantage of her during this time alone – Luke kissed her fiercely, one hand gripping the back of her neck, the other over a firm, tender breast, exploring.

  He kissed her fully, holding nothing back. Receiving no dissent from Sophie, he was delighted at the knowledge that she was not a prude, as he had taken to fearing, but a warm-blooded, sensual being. He was to be married in a few days, and he had every hope that before then he would know his beautiful bride entirely.


  Livvy and Timothy arrived. Livvy spent a few minutes in Kelynen’s bedchamber, where she had been taken, and then she sought out Luke, finding him in Beatrice’s room.

  ‘Is she resting?’ Luke asked. ‘Beatrice sent up a concoction of valerian for her to take.’

  Livvy shook her head. ‘Luke, she’s leaving for Chenhalls now with Gabriel Tremayne. Nothing I said would dissuade her. I pleaded with her to wait for the funeral but she says she has to see Sir Rafe. Shall I go with her? She insists she can cope with just Gabriel Tremayne and Ruth.’

  Luke looked at Beatrice. ‘What do you think, Bea?’

  ‘I hate to think of her all alone without any of we, but p’raps this is something she needs to do alone. The maid’s a growed woman.’

  And so Kelynen left in the same Pengarron carriage that she had been forced to travel home in a week ago. Gabriel was inside with her, his horse led home by Jacob Glynn.

  ‘I hope she doesn’t blame me,’ Luke said to Sophie, Livvy and Timothy on the doorstep.

  ‘Why should she do that?’ Timothy asked. Kelynen had allowed him to pray for the repose of Sir Rafe’s soul – he too was grieving for his friend – and then to ask the Almighty to give her strength to face the days ahead, but after all her weeping, the quiet dignity Kelynen had displayed had touched him deeply.

  ‘People tend to think strange things when bereaved. They look for someone to blame for the tragedy. I forced Kelynen to come home against her will. She might come to the conclusion that if she had still been at Chenhalls it would somehow have made a vital difference, perhaps something she might have said or done would have prevented Sir Rafe’s death.’

  ‘He was a good man,’ Livvy said sorrowfully. ‘I shall miss him.’

  ‘Do you think he loved Kelynen?’ Luke asked as he hugged the elder of his two sisters.

  ‘He was fond of her. We’ll never know for sure.’

  Sophie gazed after the rapidly disappearing carriage. ‘Gabriel Tremayne is Sir Gabriel now. I wonder what he will do with Chenhalls…’

  Twenty

  Three weeks had passed since the interment of Rafe’s body in the Tremayne tomb, which was on the outer flank of the chapel at Chenhalls, and Kelynen’s ritual there never varied. She ensured fresh flowers were in the urns on either side of the great stone door. She put her hand on the huge iron ring of the latch and knocked gently, as if to convey to Rafe that she was there paying homage to him, remembering him, still loving him. The door was kept locked or she would have gone inside and stood before the coffin on its lonely dark shelf. Finally, whatever the weather, she sat on the long ornate stone seat at the side of the tomb, where she could see the sea. There she relived every precious memory of Rafe, sometimes numb, sometimes crying, sometimes silent. Sitting alone – Rex always waited for her at a respectful, mournful distance – until someone, usually Gabriel, came and persuaded her to come away.

  Often she walked to Rocky Cove and stared down on the beach where Rafe had died. The tricky climb down had been destroyed in the murderous fight, the overhang trampled off. The bodies on the beach had been taken away by boat. She had thought to get someone to sail her round to the cove but had felt, even in her extremity of grief, that it was too morbid. She had consulted the miner who had lifted Rafe into his arms and watched him expire. The young man – his life saved after his moments of selflessness by smothering his head in another’s blood and pretending to be dead – had stood nervously, having made a vain effort to be clean and tidy, in the banqueting hall.

  ‘Did Sir Rafe say any last words?’

  ‘No, miss, sorry. He was knocked clean out. I thought he was already gone when I lifted him, then I heard… his last breath escaping. Don’t believe he suffered none.’

  ‘That’s a comfort to us, thank you.’ Gabriel had been there, also wanting to glean information about the outrage that was rapidly becoming an inevitably romantic and exaggerated part of Cornish folklore. His offer of a generous reward for the apprehension of his uncle’s murderers had brought a quick response and the authorities had a number of men, mainly ruffians, awaiting the September Assizes at Launceston. How had the robbers known about the gold, which had been recovered from the ship at Falmouth, but which was unlikely to be restored to its rightful government and would find its way into the national treasury? No one knew for certain, but common opinion had it that the gang regularly sent out spies along the coast, and then they would plot how to steal off smuggling runs when they were at their most vulnerable. Gabriel had paid the young miner handsomely for his trouble and before dismissing him had expressed his condolences to him. Many a miner, fisherman and Chenhalls servant had lost his life that night, and the youth’s own father had been shot and killed.

  Kelynen had stared into space, picturing the violence enacted upon Rafe, his fall off the cliff and his last moments.

  Gabriel had gently touched her. ‘Did you find that a comfort, Kelynen?’

  ‘It’s as if Rafe just left.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he had asked, trying to warm her cold hands in his.

  ‘I can’t help thinking there should have been a last word for me.’ Frozen inside, her eyes watering as they did so many times a day, she appealed to Gabriel. ‘There’s been nothing.’

  ‘Kelynen, my dear love, I don’t understand. Uncle Rafe had no time to think of such a thing.’

  ‘But I can’t help feeling there should be something. Anything. I’ve searched his room. There’s not a note, not a reference to me. I know he didn’t mean to, but it’s as if he just went away and left me.’

  ‘I know how empty you are. You feel that you never said goodbye to him. That you’ve been cruelly cut off.’

  She settled her gaze on his pale, caring face. ‘Is that what happened to you?’

  He nodded. ‘I understand everything you’re going through, Kelynen. My grief almost finished me. I always thought there was nothing higher, nothing purer than being in love, and then love itself betrayed me. You saved me, Kelynen. I shall stay for as long as you need me.’

  ‘Some day you must tell me…’

  Sometimes, as she kept vigil close to Rafe, her mind drifted to Gabriel’s heartbreak and she took small comfort in knowing he understood exactly her suffering, and she wondered who the woman had been, whose death had nearly destroyed him.

  ‘Kelynen, my love…’ said a voice.

  It wasn’t Gabriel who had come for her today. It was a woman with auburn hair and compassionate eyes of grey-green, who was as beautiful as the sea. Her mother. Come to her again, as she did, with her father, every few days, to shower her with love and solace and to beg her to return home.

  ‘Mama…’

  Kerensa, Lady Pengarron, bent forward and kissed her, sat down beside her and held her hand. She never tried to hurry Kelynen away from here. She had a soft voice, the accent pointing to her humble origins. ‘Your father is talking to Sir Gabriel. They enjoy one another’s company. We are all to share a meal quite soon.’

  Kelynen had no appetite but she always ate a little of each meal for Gabriel’s sake, not wanting him to worry that she would starve herself as he had. ‘Have Luke and Sophie gone to live at Polgissey yet?’

  ‘They left the manor for Polgissey last week, remember?’ Kerensa rubbed her daughter’s chilled fingers, wishing, praying there was something she could do to ease her anguish. Her parchment-white face and great, soulful eyes made Kerensa want to cry for her. She was going to add how empty the manor house now felt, how lost she and Oliver felt at Kelynen’s unaccustomed absence, but that would have been insensitive. ‘Elizabeth’s thriving. She’s a dear child. Your father is hoping to hear news of another grandchild before the year’s end.’

  ‘Yes. Luke would like a son. Has he forgiven me yet for not attending his wedding?’

  ‘Oh, Kelynen, beloved, Luke never felt that. He was more anxious that you would understand about him not delaying the ceremony.’

  ‘I wish I’d married Rafe.’

 
‘Of course you do.’

  ‘You didn’t know him, did you, Mama?’

  ‘I only saw him socially once or twice.’ Kerensa indulged Kelynen, repeating what she had said before. ‘He was a handsome man, witty and full of charm.’

  ‘Father would have given his permission for us to marry, wouldn’t he?’ Kelynen was always anxious about this.

  ‘I’m sure he would have.’ How could she tell the truth? That on hearing about Rafe Tremayne’s intentions for Kelynen, his favourite child, Oliver had cried that the man was far from suitable, that he would have used all his power to block any such union. In the illogical way of one hurting over a loved one’s pain, he blamed himself for Kelynen’s distress, believing he should have insisted she come to Bath with them. ‘Your father’s only concern would have been that you’d be happy.’

  ‘Rafe and I would have had a wonderful life together.’

  ‘It’s something to cling to, Kelynen.’

  ‘I do, Mama. I shall cling to everything concerning Rafe for the rest of my life.’

  Kerensa was disturbed by that affirmation. She hoped Kelynen would find love again, not spend her life entrenched in this terrible grief. ‘We’ve brought Samuel and Tamara with us today. Are you ready to come inside and see your young brother and niece? You’ll be amazed how they’ve grown.’

  The tall, commanding figure of her father appeared round the side of the tomb, bringing Rex with him. Kelynen sprang up and ran into his arms. Sir Oliver Pengarron held her tight, tighter, worrying about how insubstantial she looked and felt in his embrace. He had another name for her, which was a derivative of Michelle, the French name he had given her. ‘Shelley, beloved, Rex and I are eager for your company.’

  Kerensa left them alone. Her greatest hope was that in her father, Kelynen would find the degree of comfort she needed to finally bring her home and get on with her life.

  Oliver led Kelynen away from the tomb, hating the unhealthy amount of time she spent here. They were on the path towards the sunken garden.