Page 6 of The Cornish Bride

Chapter Three

Adiscreet cough woke Ysella from sleep. She rolled over in bed, blinking in the bright daylight streaming in through her bedroom window, to see Martha, her maid, just stepping back from where she’d drawn aside the thick curtains.

“Good morning, Miss Ysella.” Martha, a young woman perhaps five years older than Ysella, picked up a tray from the table near the window and approached the bed. “Your Mama asked me to make sure you was awake and to bring you breakfast.”

Ysella sat up in bed, wondering why her stomach felt so unsettled. “Good morning, Martha.” She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “I’m not at all sure I can bring myself to eat anything. Just a cup of tea, perhaps.”

Martha set the tray on its little legs across her mistress’s knees. “I brought hot chocolate, Miss,” she coaxed. “Your favorite.”

Ysella eyed the contents of the tray—a silver cloche hid a plate that might contain scrambled eggs, another of her favorites, and several slices of toast occupied a toast rack. She had to eat something, or Mama would wonder what was wrong with her. Maybe just a small slice of toast.

Martha observed her nibbling the toast for a few moments and with a sigh, set her hands on her ample hips. “Are you sickening for something, Miss Ysella? Should I be telling your mother?”

Ysella set down the toast after only one bite and frowned up at her. Martha had been her maid for the last seven years, and knew her all too well. “If I tell you,” she said, leaning forward across the breakfast tray. “You have to promise not to breathe a word of it to Mama. I want to wait a little before I mention anything to her. Until I properly know things. Until I’m certain.”

Martha leant forward a little as well. “If ’tis something bad, I might have to tell her. You know I might.”

Ysella licked her lips. “It’s not bad at all, so you don’t need to worry. It’s just private, and I want to share it with someone, just not Mama. Not yet.” She frowned. “If Morvoren… I mean Lady Ormonde… were here, I’d tell her. But she’s not. She’s miles away at Ormonde and in a delicate condition so can’t be told things that might excite her. So, I thought I could tell you, as you are quite the friend to me.” She paused after that bit of flattery, biting her lip. “And I will tell Mama, I promise. Just not yet. For a while I’d like it to remain our secret. What do you say?”

Martha also frowned as though digesting this rather garbled announcement might have been difficult, but she was probably used to Ysella’s tumbling thoughts and, after a moment’s pause, she nodded, her expression grave but curious. “I promise, then.”

Ysella, ignoring Martha’s less than enthusiastic agreement, fought to suppress the smile that threatened to widen her mouth. “I think I’m in love.”

Martha’s expression gave nothing away. She regarded her mistress out of solemn gray eyes as though Ysella had just told her which gown she wanted to wear today. Most unsatisfying as reactions went. If only Morvoren were here. She’d have reacted properly. Wouldn’t she?

“Well?” Ysella almost snapped. “Don’t you want to know who with? All the details?” Telling Morvoren about Captain Featherstone would be much more satisfying. What a letdown Martha was.

Martha sucked in her lips. “Will I know the gentleman?”

“Well, no,” Ysella conceded, disappointed. Had Morvoren been with her last night at the Denby House ball, then she would have seen what a paragon the captain was and been suitably impressed at his interest in Ysella, and perhaps a teeny bit jealous at his good looks. Although maybe not that last bit—Morvoren was of the opinion Ysella’s older brother Kit was the epitome of handsomeness and had told Ysella this on several occasions recently. Even though he was just ordinary Kit.

“Did you meet him last night, then?” Martha asked, her voice still sadly lacking the required response to Ysella’s announcement. “At the ball?”

Ysella nodded, determined not to be discouraged. “The most handsome man there,” she declared, clasping her hands against her chest. “An officer in the militia. A captain, no less. All the other young ladies clamored to dance with him, but he chose me first of all of them.”

Martha, who must have been well aware of the etiquette required at society gatherings, wrinkled her nose. “I hope you didn’t forget yourself, Miss, and dance more than once with him.”

Ysella shook her head. “I’m not a ninny, Martha.”

Martha’s expression implied she hadn’t believed her mistress, either about not dancing more than once with someone, or not being a ninny, but she held her tongue.

Ignoring this, Ysella sailed on. “Out of all the young ladies present, it was me he took into supper. I couldn’t eat a thing. All the girls were watching me, jealous of his attentions, I’m sure.”

Martha raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Are you sure you aren’t so pleased with yourself because you think you got one over on the other young ladies? And confusing it with love?”

Ysella shook her head with vehemence. “Of course not. I know quite well that I’m in love. Why else would my heart be pounding in my chest all last night and still be doing it right now?” She pressed her hands against the pattering. “And I’m unable to eat. I know all the signs.” She beamed. “I’ve read about them in books.”

Martha snorted. “Books?” The word came out as though she had to force herself to spit it forth, as though a book were the worst possible thing in the world. A misleading, lying, downright dangerous object never to be consulted for advice.

“Yes, books,” Ysella retorted with asperity. “You know I read a lot of books.”

Martha nodded, her gaze sliding sideways to where Ysella’s latest tome lay on the chaise longue by the window. Her fingers twitched as though she might be itching to tidy it.

“Leave it there, please,” Ysella snapped, picking up the tray and holding it out to her maid. “I’m getting up. The captain is coming to call on me this morning so I need to be up and ready to receive him.” She smiled. “In fact, I believe quite a few young gentlemen might be calling. Do you know what time it is?”

“Gone eleven, Miss.” Martha took the tray and dumped it with a definite annoyed bang back onto the table, as Ysella swung her legs out of bed and stood up.

Ysella stretched. “With young gentlemen coming to call, I need to look my best. I think the gold day dress with the little puffed sleeves.”