Page 8 of The Cornish Bride

Well, at least she’d got what she wanted. She needed to remember that trick.

Ysella took the seat closest to Featherstone and folded her hands demurely in her lap. Now all she had to do was get rid of Mama.

But luck didn’t favor her today. The door opened and Forbes announced another of the young men she’d danced with last night. He seemed a little annoyed to find Featherstone already in residence, but settled with satisfaction onto one of the brocade chairs.

Shortly after this arrival, a second young man arrived, and then a third. Then Lieutenant Chatham turned up with Major Hamilton. Had Ysella truly invited all these young men to call on her today? What had she been thinking? Or had they just taken it upon themselves to call without invitation? Mama’s smug expression grew more noticeable. No doubt she considered the number of young men arriving a reflection of Ysella’s success at her first ball.

Within a short space of time eight young men occupied the drawing room and Mama, probably seeing safety in numbers, withdrew. Forbes brought in light refreshment and the young gentlemen appeared settled in for the foreseeable future.

A cough sounded at Ysella’s right shoulder. She turned her head and almost bumped noses with Featherstone. “Miss Carlyon,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Might I trouble you to take a turn around the garden?” He smiled. “It would be quite respectable, as I see your garden is probably visible at all times from the house.”

Ysella’s eyes widened. She glanced back at her erstwhile suitors who were engaged in a discussion of the merits of various racehorses, a subject they seemed to think would be fascinating for her to listen to. What would Mama say? The thought that she might greatly disapprove surfaced and even excited her, a hint of the forbidden proving more than attractive. But Mama was not here. And, as he said, it was quite a respectable thing to do. Surely it could do no harm.

She rose to her feet. “I would love to, Captain Featherstone.”

Drawing her hand into the crook of his arm, he pushed open the double doors on to the terrace and led her out of the drawing room. The clamor of voices insisting their own particular horse was the best died away.

The garden at Ormonde House, which was not overly large, had been laid out by Ysella’s grandfather over sixty years ago, and was a maze of graveled pathways in between neat flowerbeds. Perfect for a promenade with all decorum, although the knowledge that the summerhouse would bestow some privacy rested at the forefront of Ysella’s racing mind. Could she but hope that the captain had suggested this walk because he desired a moment’s privacy with her? Should she even be entertaining such a thought? Mama would not approve, which made Ysella all the keener to accomplish what had fast become her dearest wish.

Captain Featherstone heaved a deep sigh as they walked down the central path towards the end of the garden, where, of course, the summerhouse lurked. “I’ve been wanting to get you to myself ever since I arrived,” he said, his voice low and husky.

Aha. She’d been right in her surmise.

Ysella’s heart skipped several beats, or so it seemed to her. “You have?” To her embarrassment, her voice came out squeaky and high, but he seemed not to have noticed.

He nodded, and his free hand patted the hand she had tucked in his arm. “All I’ve been able to think about since last night is you.”

A starburst went off in Ysella’s head. “You-you have?” Could she believe her ears? Did he feel the same way about her as she did about him? Could it be love at first sight, just as in one of her books?

“How could I not have done? You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and I have to have you.”

Was this a proposal? She’d never had one, unless she counted Archibald Hatherleigh’s and she shouldn’t really as she’d only been twelve and he’d been fourteen and home from Eton for the summer holidays. Not really a proposal to be taken seriously—she’d laughed in his face and told him she was never getting married because she preferred horses to boys.

Ysella stopped walking and stared up at her handsome beau. A last vestige of common sense remained to her. “But, we’ve only just met…”

“Don’t you believe in love at first sight? The lightning strike of cupid’s arrow in the heart?”

She swallowed. Surely his very soul must be in sympathy with hers. Having read rather too many romantic novels, of course she’d more than once dreamed of love striking like the proverbial lightning bolt, usually just after she’d finished the latest book and taken a passing fancy to its handsome hero. Last night she’d experienced a strong attraction for a man such as she’d never felt before, and today, all she’d dared to hope was that he’d be able to pay her a visit. But for him to say this to her? Weren’t men renowned for not divulging what they felt? Especially not straightaway like this. Or so Morvoren had warned her. A tiny alarm bell of caution went off in her head, but she ignored it. Instead, she nodded. “I-I do.”

“Then you’ll understand. Tell me you feel the same way about me as I do about you, and I shall be content.”

She glanced back at the blank windows of the house. Were the other young men still comparing notes on horses, or watching them, unseen? Or worse still, was Mama?

He smiled, that devastatingly charming smile.

She bit her bottom lip, reeling a little in shock. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

He gazed down into her eyes. “Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll go and leave you in peace.”

Was she being an idiot? She should tell him how she felt or she might lose him. A man as handsome as he was could have his pick of any society young lady. She swallowed. She certainly didn’t want him to leave, which he well might if she wasn’t careful with her reply. She licked her lips. “Captain Featherstone. I-I believe I do have feelings for you. Please don’t go.”

He caught her hands in his. In full view of the house. “Please call me Oliver. And may I call you Ysella? Such a lovely name. Like music on my lips.”

Bearing in mind that he’d not objected to her execrable piano playing, this praise might not mean that much. The possibility that he might be tone deaf popped into Ysella’s head.

However, she had more important things to deal with. She nodded, enthralled by the sound of her name. “You may. And I will.” She paused. “Oliver.”

At the top of the steps leading down from the terrace into the garden, Mama appeared, a determined air to her walk as she headed in their direction.

Casting a glance towards Mama, Oliver tightened his hold on her hands. “When can I see you again? Tell me I can, or I shall die.”

Ysella had to think quickly. “Tomorrow. I shall go for a walk in the park at about this very time. I’ll only have my maid with me, I hope.”

Oliver released her hands and turned towards Mama. “Lady Ormonde. I’ve been admiring your splendid garden and was just about to take my leave, I’m afraid.”

Mama fixed him with a gimlet stare as though, perish the thought, she could see right through his dissembling.

He swept Mama a flamboyant bow and then a smaller one to Ysella. “Miss Carlyon. Thank you so much for showing me the roses. It saddens me to have to bid you farewell.”

He walked away, with a slight swagger to his step, as Mama docked beside Ysella with a harrumph. “I’m not sure I like the cut of that young man.”

Ysella assumed her most innocent expression. “He seems perfectly pleasant to me.” Hopefully, Mama wouldn’t notice her warm cheeks and how flustered she was.