Page 52 of The Cornish Bride

Sam looked up. “I love her more than my own life. I’d do anything for her. Anything.”

“Then don’t be in a hurry. Let her come to you. And she will. All you have to do is be patient with her. She’s very young in many ways.” She took his hand in hers. “Now go and see her yourself.”

*

Ysella was sittingon a chair she’d dragged over to her window, staring out at the depressing sight of another very gray day. Mist shrouded the tops of the trees on the far side of the lake, and it felt as if the whole sorry landscape had been drained of color to match her mood.

She put a hand to her belly. Might there be a child growing there, all unnoticed? If there was, could she ever love it after the way Oliver had treated her? How swiftly feelings of love could turn to hatred. Several days had passed now since he’d said those terrible words—that he no longer loved or wanted her. She knew, now, that he’d duped her into sleeping with him so he could use it as leverage to force Kit to allow her to marry him. No. It had been worse than that. He’d done it to her even though he’d never loved her, only her fortune. With that gone, he’d no longer wanted her.

Why couldn’t she have been like Morvoren and found a man who loved her? Why was she so cursed with bad luck? Morvoren’s words came back to her, loud enough for her to have been in the room with her. “There’s a man right here where you see him every day who cares very deeply for you.”

Ysella had met that declaration with a laugh. “Don’t be silly. Sam doesn’t feel like that about me. We’re just friends.” Yet, as she’d said the words, doubt had crept in.

Sitting now and staring out of the window, she saw his kind face before her eyes, the devotion in his eyes, the color flaring in his cheeks when he was near her. Did he care for her? Was Morvoren, wise in so many things, correct in this one? It could be… Might she be able to conjure feelings of her own about him if she married him as Morvoren wanted… eventually? After all, she knew him well, and he had kept no secrets from her, except perhaps this one.

A gentle tap on the door disturbed her thoughts. “Come in,” she called, expecting it to be Martha.

The door opened. Sam stood on the threshold, his hands by his side contracted into fists as though he had no idea what to do with them.

Ysella stared. That the object of her thoughts should so suddenly appear, as though summoned, shocked her. He had never been to her room before. As the son of the last land agent, he’d been present all her life, but strictly in a ground floor capacity. A friend for her sisters and Kit, a second big brother for her. A dancing partner when all three sisters had been learning, someone to ride out around the park with.

“Ysella,” he said, his voice hoarse. He knew. Kit had spoken to him already.

She rose to her feet, one hand resting on the back of her chair. “Sam.”

“Would you mind if I came in?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, but didn’t move away from it as though he feared she might bolt if he came closer. He fidgeted his hands, then hid them behind his back, resembling nothing more than Kit when he’d been a boy and dragged before Papa for some crime.

Ysella managed a smile. He was her dear Sam still, and her heart went out to him in his discomfiture.

He didn’t smile back. “I have an important question for you.”

Good heavens. Had he come to ask for her hand in marriage formally? She gave a tiny nod of her head for him to go on, as the hand on the chairback gripped it ever more tightly.

He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Ysella,” he began. “I have come to ask you if what Kit and Morvoren have suggested is what you want.”

She opened her mouth but he held up his hand to prevent her speaking. “No. Hear me out.” He took half a step forward. “I do not wish to cause you unhappiness in any way. If there is any doubt in your mind about this, if there is anything you would prefer to do, given the circumstances, then please, tell me now.” He paused. “I am your humble servant, Ysella. I only want to do what you wish. Not what Kit or Morvoren wishes, but what you yourself wish.”

Such uncalled-for devotion after what she was guilty of. What could she say? She licked her lips and found them paper dry. “Morvoren and Kit have spoken to me. Kit has pointed out my choices very clearly. I am spoiled goods, Sam. No man would take me as his wife now, knowing that. Better that I ask you if it is what you want than you ask me.”

“I am yours,” Sam croaked. “You must know that I consider you one of my dearest friends, Ysella, and have done for a long time now. It would be an honor I do not consider myself worthy of to have you as my wife.”

A little smile tickled the corners of Ysella’s mouth. He’d called her his dearest friend. Was Morvoren wrong to say he loved her? Or were there different kinds of love—she certainly felt love in many different ways: for Mama and dear dead Papa, for Kit, Morvoren and her sisters, for baby George and for Lochinvar and the dogs. She’d fancied herself in love with Oliver, and how she felt about Sam was quite different to that. Did he feel about her as she’d once briefly felt for Oliver, or was all his love for her just the love of deep friendship? How was she supposed to tell? She’d misread Oliver with a vengeance.

“You are very kind,” she said at last. “You know the reasons for my need of a husband. You should also know that I do not wish to remain an old maid all my life, which is my only alternative if no man can be found to take me on.” Time to be honest. “I like you very much, Sam, but I have to tell you that I do not love you. Not in the way you might like in a wife, I fear. I would make you a very poor wife indeed.”

He shook his head. “But we are good friends, Ysella.” He smiled at her. “And friendship is a firm basis for any marriage. I already know you don’t love me, but to have your daily companionship, your presence in my life, will be enough for me. I will make no demands upon you, have no fear. We shall live our marriage of convenience as the friends we are. You will find me ever constant in that vow.”

Ysella regarded Sam for a long moment, digesting his words. Perhaps she would not have to do that terrible deed, that had hurt and made her sore, again. They could live as friends, seeing each other every day, and if she bore that bounder’s child, she would have the seal of matrimony on its birth.

“Thank you, Sam,” she said. “I should very much like to marry you as soon as possible. If that is all right with you.”

He crossed the room to her then. For a moment his arms lifted as though he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close as he’d done at her rescue, but then he let them drop. With her acceptance of his proposal, if it had even been that, a barrier seemed to have erected itself between them.

Ysella made no move either, except to hold out her hand to him in stiff formality.

He took it, and, bending over it, applied his lips to the back of it. “Thank you, Ysella. I shall endeavor to prove myself the man you wish me to be.”