Page 25 of The Cornish Bride

Chapter Eleven

Ysella slammed her bedroom door and stamped over to her bed. What a horrible pig Kit was being. She flung herself onto the bed and buried her face in her pillows. How could he be so mean? Who did he think he was? Papa?

Her mind went back to the afternoon, and Kit’s face when she’d introduced Oliver. His first words had been, as they shook hands, “Ah, I see you are about to leave us. Nice meeting you.”

Oliver, ever the gentleman, had been forced to nod his agreement. “I was just admiring your pineapple plants in the Orangery. But you’re right, I need to be on my way, or I won’t be back in Marlborough before dark.”

Kit glanced up at the sky. “I’ll wish you on your way then.” And he held his arm out for Ysella to take.

She glared at him in frustration, but short of starting an argument, she could think of nothing to do.

“Miss Carlyon,” Oliver said, bowing. “It’s been a pleasure to renew our acquaintance.” And he winked, just for her, as he rose.

Ysella started and glanced at Kit, but as Oliver had his back to her brother, he must have missed the conspiratorial gesture. What did it mean?

“Perhaps,” Oliver said, with smooth finesse, as he turned to Kit, “I might call upon your sister again?”

And this was where Kit had turned into Papa. His so far bland expression had creased into a frown that didn’t look all that apologetic. “I’m afraid that would be difficult, as the house is not open to receiving guests at this very moment, due to the illness of my wife. Ysella made a mistake in inviting you here today. We are not receiving callers and will not be again for some time to come. My wife needs complete peace and quiet.”

Ysella had to interrupt. “But he won’t be coming to see Morvoren or you. He’ll be coming to see me!”

Kit’s jaw hardened, just as Papa’s had been wont to do. “That is of no matter, Ysella. It was rash of you to invite a London acquaintance to call on you at this time. Rash and selfish. Mama will be taking you back to London when Morvoren is recovered. You may invite your gentleman callers to Ormonde House, but not here to the Abbey while my wife remains ill. I’m sorry, but my mind is quite made up.”

He made a bow to Oliver. “I apologize for having had to put it so bluntly, but my sister is nothing if not impetuous and doesn’t give pause to think of others. It is most upsetting to have to receive visitors at this time, when my wife has been so ill. The house is all upside down.” He paused and fixed Oliver with his hard gaze, and Ysella’s heart sank into her boots. “I am sure you understand, Captain Featherstone.” Said in a tone that Oliver could do nothing but agree to.

Kit’s gaze returned to Ysella. “And rest assured that when Ysella returns to Town for the remainder of the season, I shall be accompanying her.” Had that been a veiled threat? Ysella might not have been of the most astute at reading body language, but even she could read disapproval in every bone of Kit’s body, and every word he spoke. The pig.

Oliver bowed a second time, somewhat stiffly, as though he knew he’d been put in his place and it wasn’t a place he wished to occupy. “As you wish, my lord. No need to trouble your staff. I’ll walk around to the stables myself and fetch my horse. Good afternoon.”

He bowed to Ysella as well, his eyes smoldering delightfully. “Good afternoon, Miss Carlyon.”

And with that, he departed. Ysella watched him go. At the wrought-iron gate, he turned and looked back at her, touching his fingers to his forehead in a salute. Then he was gone.

Ysella swung around on Kit, her hard-controlled anger rising to the surface. “How could you do that?” she burst out. “He came to see me, not you. And you were so rude to him!”

Kit’s brows met in a heavy frown. “Ysella, you should not have invited anyone to pay morning calls while Morvoren is so ill, as you well know. That was unforgiveable of you and showed great selfishness. Am I to assume you issued this invitation whilst still in Town, when you could have had no idea whether my wife would overcome her illness?” He took a breath. “For all you knew, you were inviting some jumped-up little fortune-hunting militia officer to call on a house in mourning.” His eyes flashed at her in quite a different way to Oliver’s.

Ysella’s hackles rose. “I admit I suggested that he might call on me down here,” she spat. “But I never for a moment though Morvoren might die. I’m sure if he’d heard Morvoren had died, he wouldn’t have come. He’s not a thoughtless oaf, you know.” She very nearly added “like you” and just managed to stop herself in time. “And besides, it was only yesterday that I invited him to call today. When I knew Morvoren was getting better.”

That last bit slipped from between her lips without her thinking. She clapped a hand to her mouth as though to hold her words in. Now she’d let the proverbial cat out of the bag. Bugger it. She nearly said it out loud but managed to stop herself in time. That would not have helped matters.

“You what?” Kit’s voice was icy calm. “When, precisely, did you do that?”

In desperation, Ysella sought for some plausible excuse and failed to come up with one. She opened and closed her mouth once or twice, finally pressing her lips together in a thin line of opposition.

“Well?” Kit asked, shifting his position a little and looking more imposing and threatening than ever. “I’m waiting for an explanation.” His words hung leaden in the air between them, and Ysella glanced over her shoulder, briefly considering whether flight in tears might be an idea. But he was between her and the house, and how ignominious would it be to be chased after and caught?

Perhaps the truth might be best. Small lies weren’t too bad, she reasoned, as Oliver had told one himself, but if she told a big lie now, Kit would know, and it would be far too big for him to forgive. She had to bear in mind that as her legal guardian, he could prevent her from returning to Town when Morvoren was better, and even confine her in her room—behind a locked door—if he had a mind to.

“I, er, I went for a ride yesterday morning. But only after I heard Morvoren’s fever had broken.” The words tumbled over one another in her haste to get them out before he could interrupt her. “I was so pleased for her and you that I felt a gallop in the fresh air was what I needed. And I’ve not ridden all the while I’ve been in London. I didn’t intend to meet up with Oliver, I promise you. It was such a surprise when I found him riding through the village.”

Kit heaved an angry sigh. “No doubt already on his way here to see you.”

Had he been? It hadn’t occurred to Ysella to wonder what he was doing out there on their estate so far from his accommodation in Marlborough. Had he been hoping to either call upon them that day, or to see Ysella out riding? Well, if it had been the latter, he’d had his wish. “I’m sure it was just by chance,” she said, holding Kit’s gaze.

He laughed. Not at all a nice laugh. “Well, you needn’t think you’re seeing him here again, because you’re not. And there are a lot of reasons for that. Firstly, and most importantly, I don’t want any visitations at all from eager young beaux while my wife is ill. As I explained to that young man, she needs total peace, and she doesn’t need you unburdening yourself to her about your woes. So don’t bother to tell her about this conversation.” He paused, his hand reaching out to take hers. “And secondly, I happen to know Featherstone is a friend of Fitz’s. Well, for me if not for you, that’s no recommendation at all. If he’s a friend of Fitz’s, then he’s no friend of mine.”

“Is there a thirdly in your ridiculous list?” Ysella snapped, tugging to free herself from his hold.