Page 31 of The Cornish Mermaid

Kit sat down on one of the upholstered chairs beside his cold fireplace, and Ysella plumped herself down on the other, leaning toward him with the air of someone who intended to extract every last grain of information. “Do tell,” she said. “Is she a real mermaid?”

Back to that again. Kit shook his head. “I know her name means mermaid, but I hate to disappoint you, Yzzie. She has legs. Did you not notice whilst you were primping her in your room?”

And didn’t he know she had legs.

No.

He had to shut that image out of his head even though it kept shouldering its way back inside.

Ysella made a moue. “It’s well known that once mermaids are on land their tails become legs. And you did fish her out of the sea, after all. Then there’s her name. Although, if I were a mermaid, I’d give myself a non-mermaidy name so that landlubbers wouldn’t suspect me.” She tilted her head to one side. “Tell me everything. She’s such a delightful creature with such lovely hair, and so pretty. I want to know everything about her.”

Kit shrugged, instinct warning him not to give too much away. Yzzie was an empty-headed prattler at times and could not be trusted with a secret. “Not an awful lot to tell, I’m afraid. Just that I pulled her out of the sea in my net. Once she’d recovered, I took her to Penzance, where she told me she’d been staying, only we couldn’t find the house she remembered anywhere. So, as she was alone in the world, I employed Loveday as her maid and thought it best to bring her here.” He huffed. “Although I should have guessed Mother would object.”

“A mystery!” Ysella clapped her hands together, ignoring the criticism of their mother. Trust her to fasten on the romance of the story. “A romantic mystery. Just like in Mrs. Radcliffe’s The Mystery of Udolpho!”

Kit frowned. What had she been up to while he was away? “Have you been filling your head with romantic nonsense again? How did you get your hands on that book?”

Ysella bridled but didn’t manage to look very contrite. “Caroline gave it to me.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “And it is the most exciting story. So frightening.” She paused. “If you were to read it yourself, then you’d know.”

Kit shook his head. “I have no wish to read gothic mysteries, thank you, Yzzie. I can’t imagine that Mother would approve this as suitable reading material, can you? If I ask her, will she be aware you’ve been reading it?”

Ysella’s close study of her hands where they lay clasped in her lap gave him the answer to that.

“She doesn’t know, does she?”

Ysella shook her head. “And it’s too late, anyway,” she retorted in a so-there tone of voice. “Because I’ve read it now and returned it to Caro.”

“And you think Caro’s mother will be happy that she has read it and loaned it to you?” Kit snapped. “Mrs. Fairfield is likely to be as angry as Mother if she finds out.”

Ysella peeped up at him from beneath her long lashes. “Well, neither of them are likely to find out unless you very meanly tell them.” Her lips formed the sweetest of smiles.

He sighed. How was he supposed to stay angry with her when she looked at him like that? She’d known how to twist their father around her little finger and now she was doing it with him. Every time he tried to tell her off, she bounced back as resiliently as ever, supremely confident that her beloved brother couldn’t truly be cross.

She knew she’d won. “But tell me, Kit dearest,” she said, a naughty dimple appearing in her cheek. “Don’t you think Morvoren quite the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen?”

Now she’d put him on the spot. For a moment, he was lost for words. Of course he thought her pretty. How could he not? She was indeed the prettiest, no, the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on, but he wasn’t about to say so to his sister or he’d have no peace and she’d be bound to let something slip to Morvoren. “She is tolerably attractive,” he said, then could have kicked himself for sounding so pompous.

Ysella was clearly of the same opinion. “Oh, fustian!” she exclaimed. “How old are you, Kit? Twenty-seven or sixty-seven? You sound like one of the old dukes and earls in White’s puffing on their cheroots and supping their port while they compare their gouty old feet.”

Kit snorted with laughter, even though he knew he shouldn’t have. “And what does a chit like you know of White’s?”

Ysella tapped her nose. “More than you’d think. Caro’s father is a member and she’s overheard him talking about it. A lot. You know how her father can talk. Mother says he could talk the hind leg off a donkey.”

“And Mother won’t like you repeating that,” Kit scolded. “It’s a very rude thing to say.”

“Mother said it.”

“I can’t imagine she said it in your company, though. You’ve been eavesdropping again. You know what they say about eavesdroppers—they end up hearing bad things about themselves.”

Ysella giggled. “No one says bad things about me.”

Kit shook his head. “You mean you’ve never heard anyone say anything bad. For all you know, nobody likes you.”

She made a moue again. “Now you’re being nasty, and I know you don’t mean it.” But she couldn’t pretend a sulk for long. “I don’t care what you say, Kit, I’ve made up my mind. I’ve seen the way Morvoren looks at you, and the way you keep taking sly looks at her when you think no one’s paying attention. But you can’t fool your sister. I think you and she will make an excellently good match.”

Kit opened his mouth to protest, aware of heat creeping up his face, but Ysella was too fast for him. “I know Caro won’t mind one bit. She doesn’t want to marry you anyway. She’s in love with a soldier. I can’t remember his name, but she already told me that whatever Mama and her mother arrange, she’s not marrying you. Even though you are a viscount.”

Kit’s embarrassment, that he hoped she hadn’t noticed in the dimly lit bedroom, was replaced by amusement. “Well, all I can say is, that’s good to know, as I too have no intention of marrying her.”